


Convenience

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Best Friends, Bisexuality, Casual Sex, Comfort, Coming Out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Growing Up, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Loneliness, M/M, Oral Sex, Paparazzi, Sexuality Crisis, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9561626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Mark and Kian have been happily friends with benefits for almost a decade.  But one picture of an intimate encounter, and they'll find themselves having to pretend to be a lot more for the sake of their careers, a decision that may ruin their friendship while they struggle to save their reputations.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this thing about three years ago, and discovered it not too long ago, hiding out on my hard-drive, just begging to be finished. Not sure it's a great work of art, but it certainly made me want to hug Mark and Kian until they smushed into one person.

It had started when they were sixteen. A trip out in the country for a couple of days. Not that they weren't already in the country, and in fact the campsite had been closer to Mark's house than it was to the school, but it had made sense at the time. He couldn't even say with certainty what class it had been for, couldn't remember what they were supposed to be doing down at the lough, instead of kicking a football around and burning marshmallows and not catching any fish.

What he could remember for sure was his hand in Kian's boxers.

They'd ended up in a tent together, which was fair enough. He knew Kian quite well from the musicals, and he wasn't really close enough to anyone else in the class. He'd been picked on quite a bit, but he didn't remember the culprits being on the trip with any real clarity. Just twenty or thirty stupid, immature sixteen year olds, who thought the height of rebellion was sneaking a flask of terrible cheap vodka into camp, getting tipsy, and throwing up in the water.

But it was late. Mark could remember. Could remember the sound of something moving in the bushes, and a sliver of moonlight through the opening of their lopsided tent. Could remember Kian's half-drunken giggles. Could remember the slight spin of his own head where he'd had a tentative swallow and then not bothered after the foul taste. Could remember the snores of one of the other boys, a teacher telling someone off for not picking up their litter.

Then later, when everything was quiet and there was nothing but the sound of the water lapping the shore, Kian had rolled over with tented boxers, taken Mark's hand and whispered “please”.

And Mark had. Because Kian was fit, and yeah, he was pretty sure he'd had feelings about boys lately, and this seemed a fair enough way to test it, if a bit unexpected. And Kian had laid there, hips rolling lazily, biting his lip, eyes closed, while Mark had wanked him off in the middle of the woods, surprised at the rightness of Kian's cock in his hand. Had laid there shivering when it was all over, not expecting anything in return, then biting down on his palm when fingers snuck into his pyjama bottoms, tugging clumsily until he bit down harder to muffle the rather embarrassing noises leaking out of his mouth.

Kian had grinned awkwardly afterwards, said “cheers”, and then rolled away and not looked at Mark again, leaving him staring up at blank, sagging canvas for answers.

It had been a while before it happened again. Almost a year. They were better friends by then, were hanging out together all the time, playing Backstreet Boys covers along to Kian's guitar, talking about maybe booking a hall when Shane got back from college so the six of them could do some real-life singing. It had gone down a storm when they'd performed at the musical, and it was a rush to be doing something, having people cheer you for something you could do well.

He'd been sitting in Kian's room with a mug of cocoa between his knees, staring out at the frost on the window and listening to Kian tune his guitar, when he felt his friend shift beside him. He'd turned to look, and suddenly there had been lips pressed to his, fumbling but sure, and he couldn't help but kiss back, his eyes falling closed, heart hammering in his throat. The mug had been warm in his hands. Kian's hand warm on his cheek.

“Um,” Mark had said. Kian had blushed.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“That's okay.” Mark had sipped his drink, swallowed, and asked if Kian was gay. Kian said he didn't know, and asked Mark in return. Mark had said he was pretty sure he was. That he couldn't seem to get interested in girls. What he hadn't said was that thinking about boys while he masturbated was pretty fantastic, and that he'd be lying if the thought of Kian's hand squeezing him, fumbling in the dark, wasn't pretty high on his list of fantasies to jerk off to.

The next time was backstage in the Hawks Well. They were both not long graduated by then, and Mark could hear the murmuring of people on the other side of the curtain, the rumbling of feet, of lots of girls. He was panicking, he knew he was, but he didn't know how to stop. He leaned against the wall of the tiny toilet cubicle, trying to calm himself down, trying to tell himself that once he got out there it'd all be fine.

He could hear Graham laughing somewhere in the other room, the giggles of girls floating through the little window set high in the wall, backing onto the parking lot. There was a knock on the stall door. Kian had poked his head in, and Mark had realised he'd forgotten to lock it.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Bricking it. I'll be fine once I get out there.”

“You'll be fantastic.” Kian had laughed, his hand coming up to rest on Mark's shoulder, warm and comforting. Lips connected with his, Kian's head tilted back to negate the high difference. Mark had made a strangled, confused noise, and then opened his mouth, letting Kian's tongue slip in, meeting it clumsily with his own. His hand had tangled in blonde, floppy hair, pulling in while Kian's hand drifted up from his shoulder to his neck, holding Mark still.

“What was that for?” he'd said when it had finally ended. The roar of two hundred girls was louder now. He could hear Michael calling out for them to get a move on.

“Luck.” Kian had winked. Mark still remembered that wink.

It had been the first of many. He'd gotten one backstage when they'd supported Backstreet Boys, when Kian had tugged him into an empty dressing room and backed him against the wall, Mark's hands exploring tentatively over Kian's back while they kissed, stopping just short of grabbing his arse. Gotten one when Swear It Again had gone number one, and later on they'd made out in the hotel room, back when they still had to share, Kian rutting against Mark's upthrust thigh and kissing him hard, blonde hair falling in Mark's eyes.

When they'd been hanging out in the hotel bar after a photo-shoot, and Shane was off calling his girlfriend, and Nicky and Bryan had disappeared down the pub to meet some of their old karaoke mates. And a bunch of girls had looked at them with wide, excited eyes, and Mark had suddenly realised that maybe he was famous. They'd signed a couple of napkins, taken a few photos (and wasn't that just the weirdest thing?) and then Kian had winked at him, and crooked a finger, and they'd ended up back in Mark's room, with Kian grabbing his hair while Mark went down on him, trying to breathe through his nose.

He'd known he was gay at that point. It was pretty useless trying to deny it, and in a way it was good having Kian. Someone comfortable and trusting, who let him try things out with no judgement, get a bit of practice in the event that he actually ended up with a bloke. He wasn't really on the pull anyway. Yeah, it'd be nice, and he'd readily admit that there were nights sat alone when everyone was out with their girlfriends and Kian was shagging some random girl he'd met that he wished he could do something concrete. Maybe have someone, just to... be with. Sit with. Watch stupid movies with and maybe do a bit more.

But he was in a boyband. They were getting big, had had three number ones and were looking at going for the Christmas one as well, which had just blown his mind completely. But despite that, could he say for absolute sure that he wouldn't be given his marching orders the moment Louis found out? Or Simon. Or shit, anybody at all. How were you supposed to manoeuvre that anyway? Go down the pub and start asking people if they knew who he was, then shag the first one that didn't? Not that they were individually famous, but it'd be just his luck if he finally got a bit of something and the guy was calling the press before you'd even rolled off him.

It seemed ridiculous now. Six years in, one member down, recording a bloody Rat Pack album and wondering if maybe there were better things in life than sitting alone in your hotel room while everybody shagged their girlfriends.

There was a knock at the door. Kian's knock. Three simple raps that told Mark pretty much all he needed to know. That sounded the same whether they were in Manila, or Stockholm, or London, or Auckland. He knew it well, had heard it too many times.

Like before Kian had come in drunk one night, shoved Mark down on the bed and sucked his dick like he was trying to prove something.

Like when Kian had broken up with that dancer from the first tour, and Mark had held him while he'd cried, and then held him while he'd come, whispering her name, spilling over Mark's hand.

Like when Kian had gotten in a blazing row with Bryan (or Brian now, he supposed) over something stupid. It was always something stupid with the two of them. They'd both stormed off in opposite directions, and less than an hour later that knock had come again, and less than twenty minutes after that they'd been in the shower, Mark twisting his fingers in Kian's arse and feeling the older boy shudder against him, his hair a wet curtain on Mark's shoulder.

He got up, unlocked the door, and then sat back down, waiting. Kian came in, still wearing his suit pants and shirt from the video shoot, his feet bare against the carpet. Mark reached out an arm, letting Kian sink into it.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” Kian yawned, his hand falling to Mark's knee and squeezing like a promise. “Just tired. Thought I'd come say hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He got a lopsided smile.

“Thought you'd be off shagging American girls. Bit of anonymity.”

“Yeah, thought about it.” Kian shrugged. “Couldn't be bothered.” And wow, didn't that just make Mark feel special? Not that there'd ever been any agreement that he was. Mark liked it that way. Kian was his best friend and occasional shagging partner, but Mark knew they weren't compatible as a couple. There was no spark, no crazy head-over-heels thing. They were just... comfortable. There were no expectations, except that they stay friends. “What about you? Go find a lad or something? They'll have no clue who you are. I went down to the shop to grab a couple of things and nobody looked at me twice.”

“Weird.”

“I know.” Kian stretched, arms above his head, and Mark glanced over at the strip of stomach that was revealed. A hand fell to the back of his neck, kneading. “C'mere.”

Mark snorted, leaning in and sinking into the familiarity of Kian's mouth, feeling hands trail down his back. He pushed Kian over, climbing on top, remembering for a moment being nineteen years old and scared as a kitten when it came to initiating... this. Letting Kian come to him for ages, letting himself be used whenever Kian wanted, until that night on the first tour when he'd taken a shot of courage along with the vodka and snuck upstairs to slide into Kian's bed, kissed him awake, and buried his lips in ash-blonde hair while Kian fucked his mouth to the beat of broken, shuddering gasps.

“God,” Kian mumbled, thrusting up when Mark ground down. “Get your pants off so I can suck you.”

Mark was happy to oblige, kicking his own trousers off. He didn't bother to lose his shirt, just shuffled up the bed and grabbed onto the headboard, watching Kian's mouth open underneath him, that cheeky wink.

He sank into wet heat, hands tightening on the headboard when Kian tilted his head back, fingers coming up to caress his balls and rub into his entrance.

“Fuck.”

There was a humming laugh in reply. He was making weird grunting noises while Kian's spare hand tugged at his hip, helping him set a rhythm, his fingertip pressing into Mark's arse, not going deep, teasing just the way he liked it. Kian knew what he liked. Knew exactly, through long years of learning and testing and practice, and he knew the same about Kian. Kian had found things Mark hadn't even known he'd liked until Kian had done them. They'd done just about everything to each other it was possible to do. It was easy, and exploring, and oh – he felt Kian's tongue slide around the head and caress him – it was pretty fucking hot too.

He pulled out when he felt it start, turning away a little bit and finishing off with his hand, trying to catch as much as he could so as not to leave a puddle on the pillow. Kian wasn't much of a swallower, he knew that. Maybe it was something to do with the last lingering shred of his dubious sexuality, but Mark didn't really mind.

He was still clinging to the headboard with one hand, looking idly for a tissue, when Kian climbed up and moulded to his back, nibbling at his neck and breathing hard.

“Mind if I fuck you?”

Mark shook his head, finally finding a tissue in a drawer next to the bed and wiping his hand off. Kian kissed the fingertips once he was done.

“Stay there.”

Kian went for a moment, fishing around in his pants, and then came back, knees rolling the bed while he drizzled lube on his hand.

Four minutes later Kian's hands were holding his to the wall, driving inside over and over and mouthing Mark's shoulder while Mark stroked himself and pushed back in erratic jolts. He glanced over at the clock, sure it was late, but too jetlagged to care. The Vegas strip was still bright outside, but that was nothing surprising, and Kian was biting down like he always did when he was close. Mark bit his lip and pushed back, listening to Kian bark out his orgasm.

Kian collapsed back, panting, and Mark sat down to finish himself off, raising an eyebrow at the appreciative look in Kian's bright, sleepy eyes. He twisted slightly on the upstroke, knowing Kian liked watching it, and rubbed his stretched arse against the sheets for the last moments before release.

He wiped sweat off his forehead and smiled when Kian reached out to touch his knee.

“Cheers.”

“No problems.” Mark yawned, pushing himself off the bed and turning toward the bathroom. Kian was dozing slightly, his eyes half-closed. Mark nudged him. “Don't fall asleep.”

“Yeah.” Kian pushed himself up, staggering slightly. Mark leant in to kiss him, weaving his clean hand through Kian's hair. The Vegas lights shone through the window, blinking colours on Kian's cheek. “Goodnight, anyway.”

Mark bid him goodnight and went to clean up.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast was quiet. Nicky was falling asleep in his chair, and Shane was playing with his phone while Kian stared into his teacup, yawning. Mark took a bite of his toast, having settled for strawberry jam when he realised he couldn't get proper Nutella in America. They had some sort of hazelnut spread, but it tasted as bland as their chocolate.

“Sleep alright?”

Mark nodded. Kian had an eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Yeah, fine. You?”

“Really well, thanks.” He was dropped a wink, and took a bite of his toast to hide the smirk he knew was spreading over his mouth, glancing at Nicky and Shane to make sure they hadn't noticed. Even after all this time, he doubted they had any idea. Shane, maybe, had been a bit suspicious at one point. They knew he was gay, he'd told them over a year ago, and his family had known for ages, but Kian wasn't and it wasn't really worth the complication of bringing it up. Kian went out with women, and every now and then they'd sneak into the other's room when tits weren't doing it for Kian and Mark was in the mood, and that was that. They'd gone nine months without anything happening back in '02, and even before last night he was pretty sure the last time had been on the back end of the tour, when he and Kian had staggered up from the bar to Mark's hotel room, so Kian could sit on his cock while Mark gripped onto the sides of an armchair, a slick chest pushing against his cheek.

“What are we doing today?”

“Morning off,” Shane yawned. “Car's coming this afternoon.”

“Yeah, but what are we actually doing?”

Nicky shrugged. “No plans. Want to go see a movie or something? Go shopping?”

Mark really didn't care. Kian's phone rang, and he stood up to take it, stepping away from the table. Shane kept texting. Mark's phone beeped. Shane's did too. Nicky jumped, then pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket.

“Erm,” Shane said. His phone was already open, so he saw it first. Kian was walking back toward the table. Mark was still pressing buttons, trying to get the text to come up.

“Shit,” Nicky said quietly.

“What?” Mark asked, finally getting the thing to work. The text came up. Louis. And...

Oh. Shit.

It was a picture of The Sun front page. Not a new thing, he sent them pictures like this all the time, especially the headlines Louis had orchestrated himself.

They didn't usually have Kian's tongue down his throat.

It was their window, the bright, coloured lights reflecting off the glass. Taken from slightly below, from the opposite building if he had to guess, but there was no mistaking his own face in the grainy picture, or his hand tangled in Kian's hair.

_Secret Westlife Affair?_

Well, it was a typical enough crappy Sun headline, that was for sure. Kian stepped back up to the table, his phone hanging loosely in his hand. They all looked up at him, watched Kian's lips purse for a minute, open as if he was about to say something. His ears went red. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away, heading for the lifts, leaving Mark to take the full brunt of Shane and Nicky's stares.

“Erm.”

“So... photoshop, then?” Nicky asked weakly. Mark shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking back down at the picture again. It wasn't terrible. It could have been worse, he still had his shirt on and they were only visible above the waist, and you couldn't see the bed from this angle, so considering what they'd been doing only twenty minutes before it was a blessing. Kian's shirt was off, though, and his hand was on the back of Mark's neck in fairly unambiguous invitation, his head tilted and mouth open to accept Mark's tongue.

“Ehm.” Shane closed his phone and put it down on the table. “So that's... uh...” He blinked at Mark. “Yeah. So what's going on with that, then?”

Mark pushed away from the table. He wasn't hungry any more. Nicky stood as well.

“My room. Fifteen minutes. Get Kian.”

 

*

 

“Ki...”

“Hey.” Kian let him in, then went over to flop on the bed, arms and legs spread like the world's most miserable starfish. He stared at the ceiling. Mark sat down in the armchair next to him, propping his feet up on the bedside table.

“We're meeting in Nicky's room in ten,” Mark managed uselessly. Kian snorted, scrubbing a hand over his face. “To discuss...” He sighed. Fuck it. Kian knew what they were discussing.

“Louis' coming over. He's getting on a plane now. He said...” Kian swallowed. “God, he sounded really pissed off. We're not to talk to anyone until...” He rolled over on his front and Mark watched him punch the mattress once, twice, three times, smash his face down into the pillow, kick twice, then punch the mattress again. Mark watched, waiting for him to stop. An angry shout was muffled by the pillow.

“Did he send you the picture?”

“Yep,” Kian sighed, rolling over on his side and looking at Mark, his eyes shining with frustrated tears. “It was... It wasn't vague, put it that way. I don't...” He swallowed again. He always did it when he was trying not to cry. Mark reached out to touch his arm, but Kian batted his hand away. “Don't.”

“Okay.”

“We're so fucking stupid.”

“Not arguing.”

“No.” Kian groaned, rolling back onto his back. Mark watched his throat work. Swallowing again. A tear tumbled down his cheek. “Fuck, I've got to call my parents.”

“And tell them what?”

“I don't know. That I'm...” He shook his head. “But I'm not. Or I...” He sat up. “Let's go talk to the lads. Nicky's room?”

Mark nodded, standing up, trying to resist the urge to put an arm around Kian's back when he saw the blonde struggling to walk in a straight line. He'd never really had the urge before, but Kian looked broken and Mark felt like he should probably do something.

He suspected he'd probably done enough.

 

*

 

Shane was already emptying the mini-bar when Mark walked in, and he was grateful, despite Nicky's complaints about it being on his room tab. He tipped a tiny bottle of vodka into a tumbler and handed it to Kian, who swallowed the lot before Shane could add the coke. Shane hugged him, leaving Mark standing awkwardly against the wall next to the fridge. A drink was pressed into his hand. He took a sip, sinking down to sit on the carpet, the glass dangling between his knees. Nicky's hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Alright?”

He watched Kian shake his head, and for a moment Mark caught damp, red eyes over Shane's shoulder that stared at him before closing. Mark closed his own too, tipping his head back against the wall.

“How long's this been going on, then?” Nicky asked.

Mark snorted. “It's not. It's just a...” He looked up at Nicky. “We're not together.”

“It looks like you are.” Nicky bit his lip. “So what's the deal then?” He turned to Kian. “You're gay?”

Kian pushed away from Shane and flopped back down on the bed in a way eerily reminiscent of his earlier position. He tipped his head back, not looking at anyone. Mark stared down at his own drink.

“I'm not gay, I'm just not... I'm not not gay? I like women, I just don't... not like men either.”

“So you're like... bisexual?” Shane sat down on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard with a beer and looking down at Kian.

“I don't...” Kian sighed. Mark felt Nicky's hand squeeze on his shoulder again, then the older boy sat down beside him, his side pressed to Mark while his arm came around Mark's shoulders. “Shit, I'm sorry. It was just a shag. It was a stupid fucking shag. Nobody knew us here and I got lazy and I... I should have been paying attention but...” He gulped back tears. Mark wanted, perversely, to go over and hug him. He drained the rest of the drink instead, reaching over into the fridge for another one. “Just sometimes I need... y'know, and Mark's there, and he doesn't mind, so...”

Mark rubbed a hand over his face, his other hand unscrewing the lid off the bottle.

“So it wasn't just a one-off?”

Mark barked out a laugh and tipped the bottle down his throat, not bothering to pour it into the glass. He choked for a moment, and for a second he was back in that shitty tent, the taste of cheap vodka in the back of his throat, his hand on Kian's cock.

“No. Not really,” Mark supplied. Kian snorted, covering his eyes with his hands. He felt Nicky's hand lift away in surprise, watched Shane's face twist in confusion.

“How uh... how long?” Nicky asked. Kian snorted again, then sighed, sitting up on the bed and looking at Mark. Mark shrugged, giving the permission he knew Kian was requesting. There was no point trying to hide it any more.

“Since... 1996?”

Shane choked on his beer. Nicky laughed out loud, his voice hoarse and surprised in Mark's ear.

“Well fuck me,” Nicky said.

There wasn't much else to say.

 

*

 

Mark turned off his phone. So did Kian. There were too many missed calls, too many text messages. Every time he went to read another one it lit up with a new call. Nicky was online, checking out the damage. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, if he was honest. Most of the fan sites seemed to be split between girls hysterical over their apparent lack of bachelorhood and well-wishers who seemed to think he and Kian were on the cusp of marriage and babies, as well as a small fraction who were trying to claim that it wasn't even them, or that it was photoshopped. None of which helped with their current situation. There were more news sites running the story now, the tabloids had spread it like wildfire.

Mark was just glad they were in the States. He really didn't relish the idea of being at home, trying to push through a throng of press to get to his car. They'd come soon enough – he was sure there were American correspondents of some sort, and sharks would always head toward the smell of blood. He wouldn't be surprised if there were a few on Louis' plane.

Kian was drinking. He'd called his parents, mumbled a generic explanation to his mother and then hung up when he'd started to cry. The minibar was half empty. Mark had snagged a Twix seeing as Nicky was paying for it anyway, but he'd only managed about half of it before realising he didn't feel like it. Nicky had finished it absently, sitting at his laptop and scrolling through websites. Shane was pacing, hugging Kian, then pacing again. Mark didn't think he or Kian had touched each other since breakfast, when Kian had squeezed his knee under the table as he sat down, winking knowingly when Mark smirked at him.

Mark went out on the balcony to have a cigarette, the rush of the hot Nevada air sucking all the moisture out of his skin. He looked down. There were cars moving far below, a couple of people milling around, tiny, none looking up at them as far as he could tell. He heard the door open again and Shane stepped out.

“The shoot's been delayed,” Shane announced. Mark nodded, not looking around when he heard Shane sit down in the plastic chair. “Louis said he'll be here around ten tonight. We're supposed to stay in the hotel.”

“Okay.” Mark lit up, shielding his eyes against the midday glare. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Shane sighed. “How are you?”

“I'm brilliant,” Mark replied flatly, taking a drag and feeling the smoke fill his already dry lungs. Fuck, twelve hours ago he'd been pressed against the wall, Kian ploughing into him and biting at his neck. Now... “How are you?”

“Surprised. Confused.” Mark tapped his ash off, then looked at the dying ember of his cigarette. He lifted it to his lips and inhaled, watching the flare brighten and then fade. He focused. Small things. One at a time. It was easier. Watching the glow of his cigarette, watching a taxi negotiate the streets below, a bird go past. One thing at a time. It was easier than thinking about...

“I'm really sorry.”

“For what?”

“Just... this is gonna fuck everything, isn't it? First Bryan, now...” He shook his head. “Just so Kian and I could shag. This is why we didn't...” He sighed, slumping his shoulders, his elbows propped on the railing. “Fuck. What do we even say? No, we're not a couple. Yes, I'm gay. Kian's not. He just pops round when he needs his dick sucked, and I don't really mind because I'm so deeply in the closet it's not like I can get it anywhere else. Because I'm fucking lonely and...” He swallowed, shaking off the burgeoning tears. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“We didn't mean to like... leave you out.”

“You didn't. It's not like I'm gonna go along on your dates with Gill. I'm not your responsibility.” He stubbed out the remains of his smoke and grabbed another, considered it, then put it back in the pack. He sat down next to Shane, not catching his eye. “I feel like this is my fault.”

“For what? Being gay? Shit, that's nobody's fault. Maybe if we'd been more... supportive or something. You could have come out and then you wouldn't need to...” Shane laughed suddenly, and Mark looked over in surprise. “1996? Really?”

“Really.” Mark snorted. “It was just... stupid teenage shit and then the offer just kind of stayed open.”

“How often?”

“More than I'd like to admit.” Mark pulled out the second cigarette after all. Shane stubbed out his own. “You remember when we went to Mexico for Fool Again?” Shane nodded. “You actually almost caught us. You knocked on my door looking for Kian and he hid in the bathroom.”

“I don't remember.”

“No, you probably wouldn't.” Mark lit up. Silence reigned for a moment. Mark looked up, watching a cloud drift by and then start to break up. By the time it had dissipated, his cigarette was gone and Shane had gone back inside to order some lunch from room service.

He went inside.

“Where's Kian?”

“Went back to his room,” Nicky replied. “Wanted a sleep.”

“Oh.” Mark headed towards the door.

“He said not to check on him,” Nicky added. Mark turned to look at him, but Nicky shrugged, giving him a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Mark sat back down on the bed. “He'll want space.”

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded, standing up and pulling Mark into a hug. Mark was grateful. “It'll be okay.”

He wasn't sure if Nicky was saying it to Mark or himself.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“No,” Kian said, crossing his arms over his chest. Louis glanced at him, frowning. He'd been frowning pretty much since he'd walked in the door, which was odd for Louis. He was usually smiling even when he was yelling at them. The only time he'd smiled since he'd arrived had been while he was telling them his idea.

It was late, almost midnight. Kian had come back in when Louis had arrived, his eyes tired and cheeks tear-stained. Mark had very resolutely not checked on him, but it had been difficult. Sex aside, they'd always been there for each other. Through anger and sadness and joy and exhaustion and all the other stupid shit, they'd been a united front. But Mark wasn't welcome for the first time, and he didn't know what to do about that.

Nicky and Shane were staring at each other, holding a silent conversation. Kian leaned against the wall, glaring at Louis. Mark sat in the armchair, not knowing where to look.

“Mark?”

“No, Louis, that's mental.” He swallowed, feeling suffocated all of a sudden. “It's not... Fuck. No.”

“It's not forever. Just until the story blows over, and you can go back to your lives. Get on with it.”

“It won't work...”

“What do you want to do then?” Louis asked. “Tell everyone you two are fuck buddies? Kian? What do you want me to say?”

“But I'm not gay!” Kian protested. “I'm not going to tell everyone I am, and then... then we... what, break up? And everyone still thinks I'm gay and...” He shook his head. “No, Louis.”

“Well if you're not gay, why is Mark kissing you? Did he force himself on you? You want me to tell everyone Mark molested you?” Mark opened his mouth to protest, then saw the look in Kian's eyes, the indignant anger that pre-empted an explosion.

“What, so we make Mark the fucking bad guy? Sorry Louis, but I was fucking him against the wall not two minutes before that was taken, and I certainly wasn't complaining.” Nicky made an exaggerated retching noise and Mark covered his mouth to smother a laugh when Louis went red. Well... redder. “I'm not going to be his pretend boyfriend. They're gonna want interviews and things, and what am I supposed to do? Sit there and pretend to be madly in love with this twat?” He gestured at Mark, who laughed again, burying his head in his arms. He felt Shane's hand rest on his back and realised that laugh had sounded more like a sob.

“Louis...” Nicky started, then sat down on the bed. Kian pushed off the wall, pacing.

Louis crossed his arms. “We have to say something. They're going to ask about it anyway. You should see the press back home. They're rabid. They're all sure you lot are done since McFadden left, and now you're having secret affairs?”

“The fans like it,” Nicky said quietly. They all looked at him. “Well, they do. I mean, they're devastated because they were going to marry Kian and Mark, obviously, but they're actually pretty happy about it. I think...” He sighed. “I don't want these two having to lie, but we have to say something. Maybe Mark just...” He ran a hand over his face. “Do you want to come out? Yourself, I mean?”

Mark shrugged. “I hadn't really thought about it.” Which was a lie. He had. He'd just never felt the need to say anything in public. He didn't want people asking him questions he didn't know the answers to, picking apart his private life. He'd always thought he would, maybe, when he had someone to come out with, but considering his sexual experience more or less ended with Kian, that wasn't exactly on the horizon. And without someone to be with, what was the point? Why was it anyone's business who he was shagging, when he wasn't shagging anyone anyway? “No, but I guess I don't have much of a choice now.”

“We'll get a spread. Hello! or OK! or someone, yeah?” Louis was already pressing buttons on his phone.

“I don't see why it's anyone's business at all,” Shane piped up. “We're singers. We sing songs. Who cares who we're fucking?”

Louis closed his phone again, staring at Shane. “How long did you keep Gillian a secret?” Shane opened his mouth, closed it again. “Don't be so naïve. Everything is everyone's business. You're famous. You want to be famous because these two can't keep it in their pants? You want a repeat of Bryan and his stripper?”

“I don't...” Shane bit his lip, turning away. Kian stared at Mark, and Mark found himself staring back.

“Let me get this right,” Kian said finally, his gaze not leaving Mark. “You want me to pretend to be in a relationship with Mark. And we hid it because...” He breathed out, scratching his hair, looking at his knees. Then blue eyes caught his again. “Why? Because we didn't want to affect the band? And we're... going to break up? How will that not affect the band?”

“You're not breaking up.” Louis shook his head. “Not yet, not until this blows over. Finish the album, do the tour, and we'll see where we're at. It'll be amicable, the fans will support you, and you'll go back to normal.”

“That's almost a year!” Nicky protested. “A year of interviews and articles and questions and...” He stood back up. “What do we tell people for a whole year, Louis? That we knew all along and kept it a secret? They'll ask us questions and we're not going to know what to say. It's not right.”

“What am I supposed to tell my family? I can't lie to them...” Kian sucked in a breath full of tears. “I'm gonna tell them I've been seeing Mark all this time? Mark's family knows he's gay and he hasn't said anything about us?”

“We'll get a story worked out.” Louis was still standing. He always did when he was trying to get his way. Mark wanted to stand up too, but he felt too defeated. “We do a spread, say everything we need to, then say it's private. You two give each other adoring looks a couple of times on the telly...” Mark laughed out loud at that. He didn't think he'd ever given anyone an adoring look in his life, especially not Kian. “...and we move on.”

“Jesus. That easy, is it?” Kian was still looking at Mark. Mark raised his hands in surrender, shaking his head. “Or we could just tell people we were drunk and it was a stupid thing that didn't mean anything.”

“And you're still on the cover of The Sun kissing a lad,” Louis finished. “A gay couple is less controversial than two idiots who can't keep it in their pants. You'll be romantic, and the fans will think it's cute. You'll be poster children for gay rights and marriage and all that crap, and you'll be private about it so everyone will think it's true love.” Shane laughed at that one, and Mark couldn't help but grin. True love. Yes, that's what it had been when they'd made out in the bathroom at the Smash Hits Poll Winners Party. Mark had thought he was just getting his rocks off, but apparently it had been deep and meaningful.

“Or I could just quit,” Kian said quietly. They all turned to stare at him. Mark saw Nicky begin to bite his nails. “Can we think about it? I need to think.”

Louis relaxed slightly, and Mark was reminded that Louis wasn't a bad guy. This was damage control, pure and simple, and they were running out of options. Still, he couldn't help but hate Louis in that moment.

“What does Simon say?” Nicky asked.

“Whose idea do you think it was?” Louis replied. Mark shook his head, burying his face in his hands again. Oh. Good. “You don't have long. It's morning at home, and the press are going to keep spinning it.” He went to the open laptop and typed their names into Google News. The matches were endless, and all of them from different media outlets, different fansites. All about the same thing. Mark didn't want him to touch the image search link. He didn't think he could take it. “This is less than twenty-four hours worth,” he added, then his face softened when he caught Mark's gaze. He must have seen the despair Mark felt, the shock. “I'm sorry lads. We have to do something.”

“Yeah,” Mark mumbled, pushing himself to his feet. “I'm going to bed.”

“Close your curtains,” Louis said. Unnecessarily, in Mark's opinion, but oh well. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd wanted to throw a punch today, and he suspected it wouldn't be the last.

 

*

 

“Mark?”

Mark rolled over and looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. He'd finally dropped into a fitful sleep about an hour ago, had woken to his phone ringing.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” Mark admitted. “But it's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway.”

“No, me either.” There was a deep sigh on the other end. A tired, exhausted sigh that Mark had only heard a few times in the last eight years, and mostly as a direct result of Bryan's bullshit. “What the fuck do we do, Marky?”

“I don't know.” Mark heard the endearment but didn't comment on it. At least he and Kian were on speaking turns, and honestly that was the part that scared him. He'd be lost without Kian, without any of them, really. When Kian had mentioned quitting, that had been the part that had hurt the most. The photos had been embarrassing, but he hadn't prepared himself for the spike of panic when he'd seen the hopelessness in Kian's eyes. “Please don't quit.”

There was a long silence. He could hear Kian's breathing, uneven in his ear.

“I don't want to,” he said finally. Mark bit his lip. “I don't want any of this. But it's too late, isn't it?” Mark didn't reply. There was nothing to say. “Christ, I work my arse off for my whole life, and in five seconds it's all done. I'm all done. I don't...” He swallowed. “I'm sorry. Fuck, this is you too. I know you didn't want to come out.”

“Not really, no.” Mark rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling for answers. “But at least I've got something to come out with. You're not...” He sighed. “How can I make this easier for you?”

“You can't.” Mark could tell Kian was shaking his head. One of those strange little psychic things he got with Kian from time to time, when he could tell if Kian was biting his lip or scratching his neck without having to look. Because it was just what Kian did. They knew each other. “What do you think about Simon's idea?”

“What, be your boyfriend?” He heard Kian snigger on the other end. It didn't sound right at all. “That's madness. As if anyone would believe it.”

“I'm hurt.” Kian was pouting, Mark knew. “I could be your boyfriend. I'd be a great boyfriend."

“You'd be a terrible boyfriend,” Mark argued. “You drive me up the wall as it is, and I don't have to live with you.”

“Oh we're living together now, are we? This is moving way too fast, you know. I think you're getting clingy.”

“Well, we've only been together for, like eight years.”

“Eighteen months.”

“What?”

“Eighteen months. I was thinking...” Kian stammered to a stop. Mark listened to him breathe. “It's long enough for it to be serious, but not so long that we've been lying. We didn't want to say anything because we weren't sure yet, and then with Bryan it wasn't a good time.”

“You've been thinking?”

“Couldn't sleep. Mind kept running away.”

“Oh.” Mark considered it, turning the idea over in his head. “So a year and a half, is it? Are we living together?”

“No. That would have been suspicious, and we're with each other all the time, so.” Kian giggled, slightly hysterically. “Fuck me, I can't believe we're having this conversation.”

Mark rolled his eyes and sat up in bed. Thought about going over to Kian's room, but didn't want to tempt fate. Being in each other's rooms was what had kicked this off in the first place. He leaned against the headboard instead.

“So how did you manage to land me, then?”

“Oh, you were chasing me, didn't you know?”

“I don't see me being the chasing type. I'm shy and fragile, me.” He heard Kian gasp out a laugh in response, and Mark grinned. “I am.”

“You're a real wilting flower,” Kian agreed sarcastically. “Okay, so I got you, did I? How'd I do that, Feehily? Sweep you off your feet?”

“You got me to give you a handjob in a tent if I remember right, Egan.”

“I reciprocated, didn't I? I'm good like that.”

“You're a fair and generous human being.” Mark snorted, reaching over to turn on his bedside lamp. He was awake now, there was no point avoiding it. “I can't believe you remember that.”

“Of course I do. It was... thing. A turning point. I was shitting myself, and a bit drunk, and then I was like 'fuck it, who's he gonna tell? Nobody likes him anyway'.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“No, you know what I mean. You were... quiet, and you got picked on, and I was always in fights, and I thought you were cute. We had a good laugh, and we got on well, even if you were a fat, annoying mammy's boy.”

“You're really not helping yourself.”

“No, I know,” Kian sighed. “But eighteen months ago? I don't know. Maybe you told the lads you were gay, and then afterwards I cornered you and kissed you.”

“You did do that.”

“Yeah, but I already knew, I just pretended not to. I was proud of you. Of your courage.”

“In real life or in the story?”

“Both.” Kian paused, and Mark listened to him bite his lip. “I've always been proud of you. I never could have done what you did, been who you are. You're my hero, in an odd way. I can't even admit that I'm...” He swallowed, and Mark pressed the receiver closer to his ear, listening. “I'm probably gay, aren't I?”

“You like women.”

“Mmm.” Kian hummed vaguely. “I don't dislike them, no.” He sighed, then left it. “But I am proud of you. You grew up so fast, and you just... you were so awkward and cute and now you're gorgeous and you're like... you know who you are. You're Mark, and Mark is pretty great.”

“Ki...” He felt himself blush. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No,” Kian said softly. “It's too much. Just stay there and talk to me.”

“Okay.” There was a long, awkward silence while Mark tried to figure out what to say. “Did you know you were gay?”

“I'm not gay. I'm... bisexual. Yeah?”

“Are you?”

“Let's say I am, for argument's sake. Maybe then I'll get my life back after all this shit.” Mark chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, hearing how mired Kian was getting in his own confusion. Kian didn't laugh along. “I like women, and I... like you.”

“Oh, good. What are you going to tell your family?”

“Let's not think about that yet.”

“I think they're going to want to know.”

“Let's not think about that yet,” Kian repeated. “This is it, isn't it? We're doing this?”

“Are we?”

“Do you want to?”

“No, not really. But if it helps you, I'll...” He shook his head, climbing out of the bed. He went into the bathroom, leant over to look at himself in the mirror. He looked tired. Had a feeling Kian looked the same way. “Fuck, I've been lying for eight years. What's the difference?” He swallowed, turning off the bathroom light so he wouldn't have to look at his face, see the lines around his eyes. He opened the minibar and grabbed a bag of nuts, suddenly starving. “I just didn't want to come out like this, you know?”

“It wasn't my first choice, either. What are you eating?”

“Peanuts.”

“Good idea.” Mark heard Kian move around the room, the fridge open, a packet rip. “I haven't eaten all day.”

“You had a bit to drink.”

“And that didn't help. Maybe that's why this sounds like a good idea. Well, not good. You know.”

“Yeah.” Mark agreed, climbing back into bed. He heard Kian breathe, chew, and they sat there like that for a long time, neither speaking, just listening to each other exist. He heard Kian start to snore, eventually, and he hung up the phone and tucked himself back in, closing his eyes just as the first fingers of light reached up over the edge of the world.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“You don't have to do this,” Shane said softly. Mark reached out to hold Kian's wrist, feeling him about ready to bolt for the door. Louis was standing, as usual, and Nicky was sat in the armchair, glancing between the two of them.

It was early. They'd gotten about three hours of sleep each, and Mark could see it in Kian's face, feel it in his own. The sag of skin beneath his eyes, the exhausted ache in the back of his head. The hand in his hung slackly, and when Mark turned to look at Kian he was shaking his head slowly, as if he couldn't believe this was happening. Mark couldn't believe it either.

“We're doing it,” Kian said finally. “Just do it, Louis. Call whoever. We'll put out a statement. Just... get it over with.”

Louis nodded, not bothering to question it. Mark hadn't thought he would. He was already lifting the phone to his ear. Mark knew Nicky was looking at him, and didn't want to look back. He glanced at Kian, who pulled his hand out of Mark's grip and ran it over his face.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay, so.” He swallowed, looking up at Mark. “Okay. Right. I have to call my parents.” He switched his phone back on, and they all winced at the sudden electronic burr of a hundred texts and missed calls coming through at once. Mark reached into his pocket and turned his own on to much the same result. Kian turned away, going out on the balcony. Mark went into the bathroom.

When he came back out, Louis wasn't there. Shane gave him a hug.

“Go alright?”

“More or less.”

Kian was still out there, gesturing stiffly while he talked. Mark wanted to go out and hug him. They'd settled on a combination of stories. Yes, there was something going on between them, a bit of comfort on the road, but no, it wasn't as serious as the press was about to make out, but for the sake of the band they were going to put on a good face for the media. Mark's mother had been about as understanding as he'd expected. She'd known he was gay after all, and didn't mind who he was dating as long as he was happy. He had a feeling it had been a bit more of a shock for Kian's parents.

When Kian finally came back in, tears streaming down his face, Mark pulled him into a hug, feeling his friend sag damply against him, slack and miserable. He stroked blonde hair and pressed a kiss to Kian's forehead, ignoring the evaluating looks the other boys were giving him. And this was it now, he supposed. He couldn't just hug his friend, he was hugging his boyfriend. Even to the lads, Kian would always be someone he'd fucked, someone who, to them, was more than a friend. Every touch, every smile, every word was going to be under scrutiny now. He kissed Kian's forehead again, feeling hands tremble on his back.

“I'm sorry,” Kian murmured finally, pushing away. Accepting the tissue Nicky handed him. “I'm going to go...” He shook his head. “Something. Back to my room. Come get me if anything happens.” Mark walked him to the door.

“Did it go alright?”

“They were amazingly supportive.” Kian sniffed, and a tear crawled down his cheek. “I was so terrified, and they were brilliant about it. So why does that make me feel worse?”

Mark shrugged. He didn't have any of the answers.

 

*

 

The press were here. Of course they were. Not throngs of them, not like at home, but enough that the blacked-out van had to go slowly to get through them. He even recognised a couple of them too, from magazines and TV shows. Louis sat in the seat behind them, still talking on his phone, squashed on the end opposite Kian, with Shane in the middle. Nicky sat next to Mark, arms crossed, looking out the window. Mark did too, blinking unseeingly at the hazy mirage drifting off the hot tarmac.

The statement was ready, or as ready as it was ever going to be. They all had copies. It was all true, more or less – they'd decided to skate as close to the truth as possible. It was just easier than trying to come up with massive fabrications and then remember the lies properly. They had gotten together when Mark had come out to the others and their families two years before. No, they didn't live together. No, they weren't planning to get married. Mark was gay, Kian was bisexual. Their families were very supportive. The other lads were very supportive.

They had stumbled through the last video the day before. Mark had barely spoken to Kian, even when he'd noticed the curious looks they'd gotten from the crew. Word obviously got around fast. He was dreading how bad it was going to be when they got home. The UK press were vicious at the best of times, and this was going to be excruciating. Louis had them booked in with The Mirror to talk about their wonderful, eternal love. Mark didn't know what he was supposed to say. There were going to be photos.

First class had been quiet. He'd sat next to Shane, while Nicky and Kian sat across the aisle, but Louis made them switch in case someone took a photo. Kian had sat next to him awkwardly, glancing over at Mark whenever he thought Mark wasn't looking. Mark plugged in his headphones and watched a movie, squeezing when Kian's hand slipped discreetly into his and didn't let go. Louis nodded at them approvingly, but Mark ignored it. This wasn't for the lie. This was to hold himself together. Hold Kian together while they both fell apart a little bit.

The movie finished. He looked over at Kian, who had fallen asleep at some point, and started up another film. He didn't let go of Kian's hand. The credits were rolling again when Kian finally woke up and pulled away, but Mark couldn't remember most of the movie, just feeling Kian's sweaty hand twitching restlessly in his sleep.

The airport was mental. Louis' smile suggested he had something to do with that. Nicky and Shane walked on either side of them, keeping some distance between them and the throng of fans and reporters while they headed for the car. Kian had his sunglasses on, but the set of his mouth was angry, and Mark pulled his baseball cap down to protect himself from the camera flashes.

Mark slammed the door behind him, turning to look at Kian, who had his arms crossed, looking at his knees.

“Are you okay?”

Kian harrumphed a reply, still not looking at Mark. Mark sighed, glancing out the window, feeling like a goldfish in a bowl.

 

*

 

Mark stepped back into his own house, dropping his suitcase on the floor. The garage door was closed behind him but he could still see the flash of cameras on his living room curtains. He went over to pull the drapes closed, rolling his eyes when he was sure they'd gotten a few shots of his rather unimpressed face. There was a low rumble of the car crunching down the driveway. Kian was still inside, not visible behind tinted windows, and Mark felt a low pang in his stomach. Sympathy maybe – he certainly had an idea of how Kian felt – but also worry.

Kian hadn't been crying when Mark had stepped out, but the averted gaze, the constant swallowing, Mark knew it all well. He went to get a beer from the fridge, and then collapsed on the couch, listening to the fluttering of the vultures outside. He turned on the telly, turned it up to drown them out. Flicked through channels.

“...photographed in a hotel in Las Vegas...”

He turned the TV back off, that incriminating photo burned to his retinas. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. Realised he'd been doing that a lot lately, as though off-white plaster held all the answers. It held more answers than he did anyway, he supposed.

His phone beeped. Kian.

**You okay?**

He tapped back a quick answer.

**No. Are you?**

He waited for a response. It didn't come. He went upstairs and turned on the shower. He felt revolting from the plane, from the Nevada heat, from... well, everything really. He felt too big for his own skin. Too small at the same time. He stepped under the water, closing his eyes and trying to feel anything but rage and frustration and worry.

He didn't feel much better when he stepped out, but his phone was blinking and he picked it up with a damp hand, knotting his towel around his waist.

**Not at all**

Mark rang him. He didn't know what else to do. Kian picked up.

“They went to my parent's house,” Kian said softly. Mark felt his heart drop. “Jesus, Mark.”

“Everyone's okay?

“Yeah. It was just a couple, and Dad's locked the door and called the police. I can't...” There was a long silence, and for a moment Mark thought he'd been cut off. Then he heard Kian breathing slowly, the way he did when he was trying to calm himself down. “Right. Sorry. Have you heard anything from yours?”

“Not yet.” Mark shook his head. “Might call them, though. If the press are in Sligo...”

“They're probably on their way,” Kian finished. “Fuck me. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” There was another silence. This was the first time Mark had ever noticed the silences so keenly. Yes, they didn't talk sometimes, if they were watching telly or just hanging out or something. They'd been friends long enough not to need to fill the air with empty words every time they were alone together. But this was the first time the silence had felt thick, like a balloon forcing between them, swelling slowly and pushing them apart.

“Yeah, so.”

“Yeah,” Mark replied. “I'll do that then.”

“Yeah, right,” Kian said. “Bye.”

The phone went dead. Mark called his parents. His dad picked up. They said they hadn't noticed anything, but would lock the door just in case. His dad asked how he was. He said he was fine. There wasn't much else to say, but for a wild moment Mark just wanted to say everything. Blurt out everything. Because he'd never not told his parents something like this. Yes, he'd omitted the fact that he was gay for quite a while, but they'd sort of known anyway and it wasn't like this. Actively lying. His mother came on the phone, wished him love and luck. Mark wanted to cry.

He went to bed instead and, after tossing and turning for a bit, fell deeply asleep, the last few days' exhaustion finally catching up with him.

 

*

 

“And how did you get together?”

They were crammed on a loveseat in a hotel room Louis had rented for the event, close enough to be comfortable, not far enough apart to be conspicuous. Mark had considered draping an arm along the back of the chair, around Kian's shoulders, but it felt too weird. He settled for putting his hands in his own lap, his thigh brushing Kian's when the older boy breathed.

“Erm...” Kian snuck a look at Mark, who shrugged back, letting him take the floor. “So yeah, I dunno, Mark came out to us, and I was like...” Mark looked over at Louis, who was gesturing wildly from his position near the bathroom door, and obligingly reached over to take Kian's hand, holding tighter when he felt Kian go to automatically pull away. Kian paused, looking at him, then nodded, turning his hand over to grip Mark's, his gaze skating over Louis, who was giving them both thumbs up over the interviewer's head. She seemed a nice enough girl. Louis had been good enough to organise someone who wasn't going to rake them over the coals – it was all very cute and romantic and G-rated - but at the same time this was still a tabloid, no matter how much they'd paid for a classy interview.

Kian shook himself and scratched his hair. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“How we got together,” Mark prompted. Kian gave him a thin smile that didn't go near his eyes. She didn't seem to notice, was just looking at their joined hands with approval, scribbling notes and shifting her recorder closer to them.

“Oh, yeah. So Mark came out and... like, I sort of already knew, but I was just kind of waiting for him to say something. But then he did and I guess I thought 'well, this is my chance then'.”

“Were you surprised?” She was talking to Mark now, and he jumped, hoping it looked like he was being distracted from falling into the gaze of his one true love and not like he was trying not to yank his hand out of Kian's so he could leap three stories into traffic.

“Surprised? Yeah, definitely.” Mark snorted, thinking back to the first time Kian had actually kissed him, that cold winter morning, a mug of cocoa in his hands. “Wasn't complaining after that, though.”

“And you fancied Mark before you knew he was gay?”

“Did I fancy Mark?” Kian snorted. “Yeah, you seen him?” Mark felt himself blush a little bit, even if he was pretty sure Kian was putting it on. “We'd just been friends forever, and I guess it's just...” He shrugged, turning a look on Mark that he supposed was meant to be adoring, but looked more hopeless than anything.

Mark attempted a smile back. “We're best friends.”

Kian smiled, and for a moment Mark thought it was real. He felt himself relax a little bit when Kian squeezed his hand, and Kian laughed when he raised an eyebrow.

“Eejit,” Kian said softly. Mark elbowed him. “Right, yeah, next question.”

“You were forced to come out when some photos made the headlines a few days ago.” Kian nodded, his face carefully straight. “Had you considered coming out publicly before then?”

“We'd discussed it.” Mark shrugged. “I guess we just felt like it wasn't a good time, with Brian and everything, and you know... it's our private life, isn't it? It's not really anyone's business.” She at least looked uncomfortable for a moment. Mark thought about feeling bad, but couldn't be bothered. “Westlife is our job, and there's no reason for it to affect that, so...”

“...we didn't want it to be a focus, mostly.” Kian finished for him. “It's still about the songs and concerts, and I know we're famous, so everyone feels like it's their business, but it really isn't. I will say that the fans have been really supportive from what we've seen so far, and we do appreciate that. We weren't really sure how they'd react. But at the same time, we didn't want to be doing a gig and have everyone stare at the two of us like we're suddenly going to jump each other.”

Mark blurted out a laugh, not meaning to. The idea was just too odd. He'd had a image of belting out that last big note in Flying Without Wings, and then suddenly having Kian tackle him to the stage while the fans cheered. Kian stared at him for a moment, a bemused look on his face.

“What?”

Mark waved off his question.

“I'll tell you later.”

Kian shrugged, turning back to the girl, who had watched the exchange with a smile on her face, her pen moving over her pad faster than ever.

“We know there's probably going to be a lot of scrutiny now, but if we're going to say anything, it's just that yes, we're together, and that's all that we'd really like to say. Everything's fine, the band's fine.”

Mark nodded in a agreement. “And we hope the fans will continue to support us for the right reasons. And apart from that, please don't ask us. We're not trying to be role models or anything. We just want to live our lives same as anyone else. If you want to say something nice, great, but just like we don't want people coming to our houses, we don't really think it's anyone's right to ask about our sex lives or harass our families.”

“And your families and friends? They knew about you?”

“They're supportive,” Kian said simply. Mark knew Kian had called his family again this morning to give them a more detailed, less teary explanation. Apparently Mark had been invited for dinner.

“And the other lads?”

“Supportive.” Mark confirmed. He saw Louis raise an eyebrow again and gesture for more information. He obliged. “They're our friends, they've always been supportive of everything we've done, and they understand why we decided not to share this with the public. Shane knows from personal experience what it means to hide a relationship for the right reasons.”

The interview droned on for a bit after that. Stupid questions, halting answers. Kian was on surprisingly good form despite how shaky he'd been over the last few days, but he always was when it came to publicity. He could wear the rhetoric and bullshit like a cape when he had to. Mark had gotten better at it over time, but if there was one thing Kian could do it was take over an interview, shepherd it where he needed it to go. He was all pre-prepared answers and straightforwardness, while Mark was the master of the waffling ramble.

They talked about the new album for a bit, spinning some crap about how Sinatra and the boys were an inspiration, even though Mark couldn't have given two shits and knew Kian didn't much care either. Another of Simon's amazing ideas. Then there were photos. They tried to get into it, figured at least they'd gotten out of anything too romantic by their earlier assertions of privacy, and they came up with a few decent ones, one of them sitting on the loveseat, looking at each other while Kian laughed.

Of course, the only reason he'd laughed was because Mark had just finished telling him about his mental image of being tackled on stage, but it did make for a nice picture. Another one was them standing on the balcony holding hands. It didn't look right at all, not to Mark anyway. Tragically posed, and totally unnatural. Louis said it was cute. Kian rolled his eyes.

“We never bloody hold hands,” Kian muttered.

“You want a picture of what you usually do?”

Mark shook his head, not wanting to mention the fact that they had, in fact, held hands the day before on the plane. Not that that really counted. It hadn't exactly been a sweet, romantic moment.

The other one was on the loveseat as well, Mark's arm draped over the back, hand disappearing behind Kian's head. He'd finally put it there when he'd gotten so cramped he'd needed to put his arm somewhere that wasn't in his own lap. Mark liked that one the best. They actually looked like real people, like good mates, not like two awkward idiots trying to play house.

When it was over they got back in the car and went back to Kian's house. Mark dropped onto the recliner immediately, feeling exhausted, glad the press weren't around this time. They'd not given them anything the day before, and he supposed with the interview coming out there wasn't much else for them to do.

He just hoped this was the end of it. That they'd made it clear enough that they just wanted to be left alone. Not that the press would respect that, necessarily, but if there was nothing more to say, what were they going to ask? A picture of the two of them together wasn't a commodity any more, not after that embarrassing photo-shoot and the even more embarrassing candid shot from a few days before. Mark had deleted it from his phone. He saw it every time he turned the telly on, really didn't need his own copy.

Kian handed him a beer. He took a sip, looking over at his friend.

“That went well.”

“Yeah, fuck off.” Kian rolled his eyes. “Think they bought it?”

“I don't think they had any reason not to.” Mark took a larger sip. He swallowed, feeling the condensation drip over the backs of his fingers. “You did really well, by the way.”

“I felt like I was on autopilot,” Kian sighed. He propped one elbow on the arm of the couch and leaned his cheek on his hand, looking anything but relaxed. He regarded Mark silently. Mark looked back, wanting to reach out and caress Kian's cheek, run his thumb over the scar under his eye like he sometimes did on the occasional times they cuddled after. It didn't happen often, not unless one of them was in some sort of mood and needed a bit of comfort. It had been a long time since they'd done that, Mark realised. Everything had been going so well until a few days ago.

Mark stood up, moving over to the couch and tossing his arm around Kian's shoulders, trying to seem casual. Kian didn't lean into it, but he didn't push away either.

“You did well, too,” Kian said finally. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For not... I dunno.” Kian shook his head. “It's been a really fucked up couple of days and for what it's worth... if I had to go through this bullshit, I'm glad it was with you.” He leaned forward, out of Mark's embrace. Rested his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. Mark reached out to squeeze the back of his neck.

“Who else were you gonna go through it with?” Mark chuckled. “Who else you been shagging?”

“Mm. Yeah. But.” Kian pressed his face into his hands. Mark felt him breathe in, deliberately, then back out. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“I do, yeah.” Mark removed his hand, leaning back on the couch and staring in the general direction of the TV, which wasn't turned on anyway. He could see Kian's reflection in it, the tense set of his shoulders, the downcast eyes. “I know it's not much consolation, but I'm sort of glad I didn't have to do this by myself. Come out, I mean.”

“Even if it's a lie?”

“I guess. Not that I wanted this for you.”

Kian stood up, his beer dangling from one hand. Mark watched drips of condensation drop onto the carpet. One, two.... three. Four. Kian swayed a little bit, then turned around, looking at Mark.

“Wanna go upstairs?” Kian said finally. Mark shook his head.

“No, not really.”

“Oh.” Kian tipped his head back, as though he was asking the ceiling for help. He and Mark had that in common. “Sorry, forget I said anything.”  
  
“It's fine. I'm just really not... in the mood. Not after today. I just want to drink this beer, then maybe another one, and maybe we could go play pool or watch TV or something. It's not personal.”

Except it was. For the first time Mark realised that they'd never had sex in either of their own homes. It was always hotels, bathrooms, dressing rooms. Once in the backseat of Kian's car. He wasn't sure why, or if it was even intentional. Maybe something to do with privacy, or keeping it separate from real life.

“I know. I shouldn't have asked. Honestly I'm not in the mood either. I just feel...” Kian swallowed the rest of his beer, then wandered into the kitchen to grab another one. Mark stayed where he was, trying not to meet the eyes of his own reflection.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Ready?”

Kian nodded, reaching over for the paper rolled up in Shane's hand. He'd picked it up from the news-stand on the way over. They were sat in the back garden of Nicky's house. Nicky had the grill on, was turning sausages over. Georgina was sorting out a salad. Mark was smoking. He felt like he hadn't stopped smoking in days. Had started that day in Vegas on the balcony, had stepped it up two days ago after their first couples interview, and now he was barely waiting for one to go out before lighting up the next.

He and Kian hadn't kissed in almost a week, which was probably a blessing because he was sure he tasted like an ashtray.

Mark stubbed out his cigarette before walking over, not wanting a bollocking from Georgina for stinking up the place. Gillian was stood behind Shane, looking at the roll of paper expectantly. Mark smiled weakly at her, getting a tentative nod in return. The wives knew, of course they did. It wasn't like Shane or Nicky were going to keep it from them. Georgina had hugged him hard when he'd come in, kissing his cheek. It had been weird and pitying, but he supposed he appreciated it. They wouldn't tell anyone, anyway, if only to keep their own husbands' careers safe.

Kian pulled off the rubber band and unfurled it. It was a quality headline, too. _Westlife Come Out._

“What, all of us?” Nicky laughed, peering over Kian's shoulder. Georgina grabbed the tongs, sorting out the barbecue before the sausages could burn.

Shane read it out loud. It wasn't that bad. Shane started laughing uncomfortably, and then hysterically, and Gillian had to calm him down while Nicky finished reading it. The photos were weird. They'd used the one of them on the loveseat, the one Mark had liked. There was another one, too, one he didn't think much of, of them standing on the balcony in profile, a small smile on Kian's face, Mark's hand on his elbow. It was cute enough, but it just felt so _wrong_. The interview was more or less as he remembered it.

“So that's it, then,” Nicky said finally, tossing the paper on the patio table and taking a bite of his sausage. Kian was staring at his as though it was from another planet, picking at the onions occasionally. Keano was sat obediently on the patio, looking winsomely at the food. “What do we do now?”

“Nothing.” Kian shrugged. “Go back to normal.”

Mark snorted in disbelief. Kian pushed his plate away and took a sip of his beer. It was only ten in the morning, but there wasn't much point pretending to be responsible. Mark navigated a forkful of salad into his mouth.

Silence sank in for a long time. Even when people were talking, which they kept trying to awkwardly do, it was like there was a muted, liquid discomfort hanging in the air between them. Too many awkward questions everybody and nobody wanted to ask. Too many painful attempts to talk about things they could pass off as normal. Shane started telling a story at one point and just trailed off without finishing it, as if he realised nobody really cared. Georgina's smile looked plastered on her face, hooked over her ears like a mask. Nicky kept getting up and asking if anybody wanted anything, even though nobody did. Gillian was quiet, kept glancing between the two of them like she was trying to pair them up in her head.

And Kian stared at his beer, not looking at Mark.

Eventually they all went inside and put on a movie. It at least filled the silence a bit, though nobody really laughed at the funny parts. Gillian looked at Mark again, then at Kian.

“What are you going to tell your parents?”

“I don't...” Kian sighed. He was onto about his fifth drink. Mark wasn't far behind – he'd grabbed one pretty much every time he'd gone out for a cigarette. “I don't know.” He took another sip of his beer.

“Just because, like...” She shrugged. “What if mam and dad ask me? Just so I know what to say.”

“We're just sort of saying we're dating,” Mark supplied. “It's not as serious as the papers say, though, it was just easier than explaining...”

“Are you going to tell them the truth?”

“No.” Kian looked down at the floor.

“They wouldn't say anything.”

“No, they wouldn't.” Kian drained the last of his beer, put the empty bottle down on the table. “But what am I supposed to say? I was horny and I thought it'd be a good idea to shag my bandmate? Not because I love him, or anything, or even because I'm gay, but because...” He shrugged. “Fuck, I don't even know.” He sighed, leaning his face in his hands and rubbing his eyes for a moment. “I don't need to tell my mother I wanted to get off so I let Mark fuck my face.” He flushed red, stood up. “Yeah, I'll just tell mam that, will I?”

“Ki...” Gillian bit her lip. “Look, they're not naïve. They'll understand.”

“Really? Because I don't.” He shook his head. “I fucked this idiot right here. Okay? We all know it, we just don't want to talk about it. All we want to talk about is damage control, and what to tell our parents, and how this...” He picked up the paper on the table, held up the picture spread. “This is so fucking cute, right? Look at this shit. Perfect couple.” He threw it down on the coffee table, knocking over Nicky's beer in the process. It spilled onto its side, but was at least half empty so didn't make too much mess. Kian stared down at the small spreading puddle

“Kian...” Shane started. Kian turned away. For a second his gaze fell upon Mark, who had sat silently through the whole thing, not able to refute his statement with any real conviction. The gaze moved on a moment later, barely fixing on him. Shane put a hand on his shoulder, but Kian shrugged it off. “Look, mate, maybe it's time to slow down a bit, yeah?”

“Oh, fuck off Shane.” Kian shoved him hard. Then Nicky was up, trying to get between the two of them. Not that Shane was putting up much of a fight. “How's your perfect fucking life? Easy to stay sober when you're all fucking loved up. Jesus, I remember when you were shagging every fucking girl in the school, getting trashed most nights, but hey, you don't take it up the arse so you get to be the golden boy?” He shouldered Nicky away. “Just...” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just fuck off.” He stalked out of the room.

“Kian...” Nicky sighed. He slumped back onto the couch. Shane was still standing, looking at his hands like he didn't know what they were.

“I didn't mean...”

“I know,” Gillian said softly. “It's fine. He's just upset and a bit drunk.” She reached out, took Shane's hand. “Leave him be.”

Mark went back to watching television. After a moment he realised everybody was watching him. He looked around, got a ring of averted stares and unassuming, silent shrugs. So he got up, already fishing for a cigarette before he could leave the room. The moment the door closed behind him, though, he could already hear them starting to whisper. He shook his head, sparking his lighter as he stepped through the sliding glass door off the kitchen.

He leaned against the fence, not sure what to do. Staring up at the branches of the tree spreading above his head seemed like a reasonable way to pass the time, so he did that, inhaling slowly and trying to slow his racing heart.

One day. One day and it had already gone to shit. He didn't like this. Didn't like the stares and whispers, the expectant looks when Kian had stropped from the room, as though it was suddenly his job to go after him. Because they were a couple now, apparently, no matter what everybody knew, no matter what rather crude words Kian had said. They were friends, they were shagging, and there it was in the papers like the most obvious thing in the world.

He finished his cigarette. Popped back into the kitchen to grab another beer. He could still hear them talking, heard the heavy pause when the glass door clunked shut, then when he waited a moment heard them start up again. He couldn't make out words, but it wasn't like they were talking about the movie they'd all been so absorbed in. He grabbed a beer and began to grope another smoke out, heading back to the yard. He leaned against the tree this time, began to sink down it, when he spotted a blonde shadow out of the corner of his eye.

Kian was curled down beside the house, crammed in beside a tap over a small gravel path, half hidden by some low bushes. He didn't look up, but Mark could see the tops of Kian's knees, hiding his face, shaking shoulders. He considered not heading over, giving him some space, but in the end found his feet carrying himself unstoppably forward

Because, shit, at least Kian wasn't talking about him behind his back.

“Hey.”

Kian didn't look up. Mark sank down beside him, feeling his shirt catch slightly on the bricks. The gravel was digging into his arse. He lifted a hand, rested it gently on the back of Kian's head. Felt him stiffen.

“You okay?”

Kian laughed, sort of. Mark stroked his hair for a moment, but felt weird about it and let his hand drop, folding it between his bent-up legs. He took a sip of his beer, felt the bubbles fizz on his tongue. Kian's head lifted, his chin resting on his knees while he stared at the fence opposite them, his eyes red.

“I don't know if I can do this.”

“Bit late,” Mark pointed out. Kian snorted, shaking his head. “I know what you mean.”

“This is mental right? It feels like it's happening to someone else. Aside from you, of course.” He laughed softly. “Jesus Christ, this can't be happening.”

“That's what I remember thinking when I was jerking you off in that tent,” Mark joked. He got a small smirk in return.

“I think I was thinking the same.” There was another soft laugh. “We had some really, really good ones, though.” Kian glanced at him for a moment and Mark smiled, reaching over again, feeling blonde hair slip between his fingers. “That's the worst, I think. There was nothing wrong with what was going on, and now I feel like there was. It's ruined it.” He shook his head, dislodging Mark's hand for a moment. “Like, we're a couple now, and I honestly don't think I could.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, yeah.” Mark nodded. “I don't feel like I could get it up for anybody at the moment. I'm too...” He shook his head. “You know they're talking about us in there.”

“I'm not surprised.” Kian reached up. For a minute Mark thought his hand was going to be brushed away, but then it was taken in Kian's, squeezed for a moment and then held. The older boy shifted a little closer, their sides pressing together, hands on the shared peak of their knees. “Think it was when I said about you fucking my face?”

“I think it was more the bit about calling Shane a highschool slut.” Kian laughed softly in response.

“Yeah, well...” He shook his head. “Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that about you."

“Well, I did fuck your face...” Mark smiled, getting a half-hearted squeeze from Kian's hand. “It's fine. I'm not worried about that.”  
  
“What are you worried about, then?”

“Honestly...” Mark sighed. “I'm mostly worried that we won't be friends any more. Like, I know things are awkward and fucked up, but...” He shrugged, squeezing Kian's hand. “We've never not been friends.”

  
“We're still friends.” Kian said, turning to look at him for the first time. “Aren't we?”

  
“I think so. I hope so.”

“Okay.” Kian's eyes were a little red, slightly unfocused with drink. Mark took a sip of his own beer. “Remember that time you fucked me in the bathrooms at Record of the Year?”

“Was that the year Gareth Gates won?”

“I think so. We weren't even nominated, so I'm not sure why we went.”

“Piss up?”

“Probably,” Kian agreed, leaning into his shoulder. “And I was resting my foot on the loo roll, trousers hanging off my ankle, and half of Liberty X came in, so we tried to be really quiet.”

“...and then the toilet roll holder broke off!” Mark exclaimed. He remembered that one, as pissed as he'd been. “And I almost bloody dropped you!”

“Oh god, and it hit the ground so loudly, and one of them said “What was that?” and we were stood there, my leg around your waist, you bollocks deep in my arse, trying to get a foothold on the bloody toilet seat so we didn't go crashing to the ground.”

Mark laughed. That had been a good night. Liberty X had jogged on after a bit, and he'd finally been able to let go of Kian. They'd stood there for long minutes, until they were sure they were alone again, and then Mark had bent Kian over the toilet and finished the job.

“That was a good night.”

“It was,” Mark agreed. “It was a lot of fun.”

“And now I can't help think...” Kian squeezed his hand again. “People know now, and all they're going to be able to think when they look at us is that we're fucking. We could be onstage, giving the best performances of our lives, and I'll know that half the crowd is thinking that we're going to go back to the hotel and shag once this is all over. It was nice keeping it a secret. Now it just feels like something that's happening to me.”

“It was ours. It was something we were doing,” Mark murmured. Kian nodded.

“That's it. And now it's everybody's. Now we're in this little box marked 'relationship' and we're expected to be something. It was already something. To me, anyway.” He looked up at Mark. “I know we weren't in love, but I do love you. Maybe that's just the beer talking, but I do. I shouldn't have to love you the way they want. I already liked the way I love you.”

“I liked it too.” Mark took a chance on Kian's mood, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “I love you. I love that we're best friends, and that we hang out together, and sometimes I fuck you in the toilets at Record of the Year. I didn't need it to be more than that.”

“Exactly.” Kian nodded. “I knew you were there for me. Not because we were in a relationship and you had to be, but because you wanted to be. Because I wanted to be. Now it feels like we're being chained together, and I hate it. I never wanted to feel this was a job.”

Mark nodded. There wasn't much to say. Kian let go of his hand, leaned in closer.

“I want to go home. I don't want to sit in there, knowing they're all wondering if we've fucked everything up for them. Wondering about our fucking sex lives. I can see it, you know? It's changed things. Maybe if we were a couple they'd just be happy for us or something, but we're not a couple, and I feel dirty whenever they look at me. I hate it.” Kian bit his lip. “I'm probably just being drunk and paranoid, right?”

“I don't think it matters. If Georgina smiles at me one more time, I'm going to slap her.”

“You gonna hit a woman?”

“I hit Shane that one time, when he was being a tosser.”

“Fair point,” Kian laughed. “Which time was that, then?”

“Too many to count.” He smirked, got a nudge. “You want to call a cab?”

“What, leave together? They'll think we're shagging.” Kian snorted bitterly. “Fuck 'em. Let's just sneak off. We'll text them once we're already gone.”

“Bit rude.”

“Do you care?”

“Not really,” Mark admitted. “You want to come back to mine? I'm sure I've got a frozen pizza or something. We can get more drunk.”

“I'm not drunk. I'm emotional.” Kian gave him a thin smile. “Part of me wants to go home and sleep. Part of me...” He shrugged. “I don't know, Marky. It all feels a bit too raw. Maybe we shouldn't for a while.”

“Shouldn't what?”

“I don't know.” Kian shook his head. “It's ruining it already, isn't it? I want to stay friends, but I can't even hang out at your place without feeling like I'm doing something wrong. Like I'm posing, or something. We used to hang out without shagging all the time.”

“We still can.”  
  
“Can we?” Kian asked. “Shit, we're drunk and sitting in a corner behind Nicky's house, and I feel like it's the most normal conversation I've had with anyone in over a week. My mam wants you to come for dinner. What are we even supposed to talk about?”

“My mam wants you to stay the weekend. She kept saying she'd set up the fold-out so we didn't have to squash in my old single bed.”

“Oh... fantastic.” Kian's voice was flat. Mark buried his face in his knees, heard a resigned chuckle. Fingers stroked up the back of his neck. “Want to come back to mine? I've got a shitty old concrete birdbath the last owner left, and I sort of hate it. I was just going to chuck it out, but I was thinking we could hit it with a sledgehammer.”

Mark laughed. “Do you own a sledgehammer?”

“Yeah, old owner left that as well. I think he knew this was going to happen, one of these days.”

“Wish he'd told us. We could have avoided it.”  
  
“No, it'd be like one of those time-travel movies. You try to change the future and end up killing your own great-grandfather or something.”

“So what you're saying is, when life gives you lemons...”

Kian nodded, already starting to stand. “...hit a birdbath with a sledgehammer.”

Mark grinned, letting Kian pull him to his feet.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Mark had been twenty-two the first time he'd fucked Kian. It was sort of odd, actually, that they'd been so late about it, when they'd already been occasionally responsible for each other's orgasms for six years by that point. It wasn't on purpose, it had just never really come up. Kian had stuck a finger in Mark's arse during a blowjob, but neither of them had felt the need to talk about it afterwards. Kian hadn't asked, Mark hadn't said no, and in the end it had felt pretty fucking good, despite his initial surprise. He'd returned the favour a few weeks later, heard Kian's startled gasp when he'd brushed a spit-slicked finger over grasping muscles, and nudged it in slightly, heard a soft moan, felt Kian push down.

And that was fine. It was one of those things they did, testing each others' limits occasionally. Like the first time Kian had gone down on him, looking up at him like he wasn't sure what he was doing either, had gagged for a bit, and then they'd both ended up giggling like idiots ten minutes later when Kian had been leant over the sink trying to wash cum out of his hair.

It was probably odd that Kian had been the first one to take it up the arse, considering Mark was the gay one, but it had just felt like a reasonable progression at the time. Mark had pushed a second finger, just for the hell of it, heard Kian whimper, then cry out, hands fisting painfully in Mark's hair while he tried to find the same spot again. Felt it, rough under his finger, Kian's cock twitching like a warning on the back of his tongue while he'd arched up, his toes curling on Mark's shoulders. So Mark had added a third, swallowing fast when Kian had come suddenly, his hips moving hard, driving back and forward at the same time.

They'd been shagging a lot at that point, partly because Kian had been single at the time, partly because Mark had had a crush on a really cute guy on the lighting team for the tour, partly because he'd been twenty-two, horny, and they'd had a lot of free time on the road. So the next night he'd tried it again. He'd pulled off Kian's cock, looked up at him, flushed and glowing with sweat, chest moving hard while his erection throbbed in Mark's hand, and asked if he wanted to try something mad. And Kian had bit his lip, closed his eyes, opened them again, and said 'fuck it, why the hell not'.

So they had. And god, it had been good. Kian had whimpered a bit at the beginning, but they'd taken it slow, laying face to face, touching each other slowly, Mark trying to keep him relaxed and comfortable while he'd pushed in a little at a time, adding lube as he went. It had been more than half an hour later that he'd been all the way in, kissing away shrill, panting breaths while Kian had gripped his shoulders tight, his leg hitched up to open the way while Mark had tried desperately not to come, nibbling at Kian's ear to keep both of them distracted. Then Kian had groaned and moved a tiny bit, and it was suddenly easier, and holy shit, that was good, feeling the man in his arms arch, rock back a little, his eyes closed, mouth open, the splash of cum over his hand, and then Mark had been falling into the rabbithole of his own orgasm, never wanting to hit the bottom.

It had been easy. A thing they'd done together, without embarrassment or regret or expectation. Then a few weeks later when Kian had asked if he could have a go next, as though it was a new video game on Christmas morning, Mark had said 'why the hell not'.

And it had been good. So good. Because it was his best friend, kissing him gently, stroking him while he focused past the pain, felt the first shuddering contact on his prostate, the unbeatable fullness while teeth nipped at the back of his neck, spooning him against Kian's chest, soothing him gently although he was pretty sure this was already his new favourite thing, listening to Kian gasp in his ear, tell him how good he felt, how tight. How Kian loved him. And how Mark didn't have to feel like there was any expectation or ambiguity in that statement. Because he loved Kian too.

Because they were best friends.

Because he had felt so fucking good.

And now here he was, watching Kian tell a reporter that yes, they were very happy and in love, and Mark had no fucking idea what to do with that.

Because they hadn't had sex in three weeks. Which was fine. It wasn't like they had a calendar drawn up. They didn't yearn for each other when they were apart, or anything stupid and Hallmarky like that. Most of the time they'd just go get lunch, have a pint, and go their separate ways. Then sometimes Kian would casually mention that he hadn't gotten laid in a bit, or Mark was sort of eyeing off the waiter and wishing he was anonymous and brave enough to just flirt, for fuck's sake, so they'd go back to the hotel, exchange blowjobs, have a nap, and show up at the concert nicely relaxed.

It wasn't supposed to be some journalist asking whether there was the sound of wedding bells yet. Mark thought there was probably about to be the sound of somebody getting slapped.

So he mumbled something about how it was a bit early for that and stepped back a little bit to let Nicky take over answering questions about the upcoming album.

He hadn't wanted to come, but Simon had insisted, said it would be good publicity. It wasn't even anything interesting, just some nightclub opening. He'd been to nightclubs before. They were all flashing lights, loud music, and gimmicky cocktails. He had a raging headache.

“You okay?” Kian whispered. Mark nodded, attempting a smile that he hoped was encouraging. Kian obviously didn't buy it, but he smiled back anyway, raising an eyebrow. Mark shrugged.

“This is so weird,” he murmured.

“Aw, come on,” Kian laughed. “This is the best first date ever.”

“First date?”

“Yeah, why the hell not?” Kian looked up. They were heading through the front door now, the music at least loud enough that it masked their voices. “It had to happen eventually, now that we're madly in love.”

“Don't remind me.” Mark rolled his eyes. “And this is your idea of a first date?” He motioned at the packed dancefloor. “Player.”

“What did you want? Dinner and a movie? I took you to see Shaun of the Dead.”

“That was months ago!” Mark crossed his arms, affecting a pout. Kian sniggered, nudging him with his shoulder. “And I paid for it _and_ bought the popcorn.”

“See? Dinner and a movie.” Kian laughed, and a hand squeezed his shoulder for a minute, friendly and comfortable. “Why don't I buy you a drink?”

“And now you're trying to get me drunk. Is this how all your first dates work?”

“Generally, yeah.” Kian grinned. “Sometimes they even put out.”

“You're calling me easy?” Mark took a step back. “I don't care for this date.”

“You are easy.” Kian stepped in again. Mark laughed, pushing him gently with both hands. Kian caught his wrists, pulling him closer. They looked at each other for a moment, their fingers entwining, then Kian's eyes darted meaningfully to his left. “There's a camera right there.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” Mark sighed. “What do we do?”

“Try to look like you're madly in love with me.” Kian pouted when Mark started to giggle, the idea too much to keep a straight face. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Should I call you honey or sweetheart or something?” Mark suggested. Kian snorted.

“Pumpkin?”

“Snugglebunny,” Mark retorted.

“Nice one, teddy bear.”

“Fuck off.” Mark laughed, squeezing Kian's hands, got a lopsided grin in return. “Still want to buy me a drink?”

“The bar's already calling my name.” There was a camera flash as he was tugged away, his hand still in Kian's.

They ordered drinks. Then more drinks. Shane and Nicky wandered over after a bit and they did a round of shots, just for the hell of it. It was a bit like the old days, except every time Mark even turned to look at Kian, even for a moment, he thought he saw the flash of cameras, bright amongst the flickering of the strobe lights.

They'd made peace, more or less, after last week's unpleasantness. Everybody had said grudging apologies, Kian and Shane had hugged it out, and then Mark had gone back to Kian's and helped him smash seven hells out of a really ugly birdbath with cherub faces carved into the bowl.

It had been a bit nice, in an unexpected way, watching the thing smash apart into chunks. Then smaller chunks, taking turns until they both had blisters on their hands and were covered in sweat, laughing at the complete and utter destruction of it all. They'd still been drunk, of course, but it made Kian's Godzilla impression even funnier, as he stomped around the crumbled debris. Then they'd gone inside, watched TV for a bit, and Mark had gone home an hour or so later, cement dust still clinging to his t-shirt.

They ended up hanging around the bar, watching everybody else dance. It was easier that way, less public than wandering out into the fray, maybe having a dance and getting caught being awkward on camera. They were there, even when Mark couldn't see it. He suspected he was maybe starting to get paranoid. Kian was sipping slowly on a bourbon and coke, slumped in the booth across from him.

“You know...” Kian started. Mark looked up, his fingers wet from the glass they were wrapped around. He couldn't really remember what he'd ordered, but it seemed alcoholic enough. “...if we were actually a couple, this would all be quite nice. Being out and that, not having to hide it.”

“Would it?” Mark shrugged. “It's a bit of an anticlimax, actually. I was expecting more hate mail, or something.”

“Really?” Kian looked around, his gaze evaluating as he took in the people around them. “From who?”

“Don't know. General homophobes.” He shrugged again. “I dunno. It seems a lot easier than I expected. Everybody's been really accepting of it.”

“Yeah, it's good.” He looked at Mark. “It's a shame, actually. This would be the perfect time for you to try to pick up. You know. Single, gay, famous, gorgeous. You'd have 'em falling at your feet.”

“But instead I've got you,” Mark retorted. “Not exactly a lad magnet.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn't mean...” Mark laughed when he got a cheeky grin, realised he was being made fun of. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Kian stretched, his arms spreading over the top of the seat. “See that lass over there?” He gestured slightly, and Mark looked over to see an extremely cute brunette talking to her friends, a broad, open smile on her face. “Been after her for about five years now. Thought I was getting close, too, and then this happened.”

“Who's she?” Mark squinted. She sort of looked familiar.

“Jodi Albert. Used to be in Girl Thing.” Mark shrugged. He sort of remembered the group, some short-lived girlband. “She's on Hollyoaks now.”

“Oh!” Mark's eyes widened in recognition. He wasn't really a soap watcher, but he recognised her from the adverts. “Really? Since when?”

“Ages. Met her at Party in the Park years ago, but she was about fifteen and it would've been a bit wrong. Not anymore, though. Now she's all grown up.”  
  
“Pervert.”

“I was seventeen. It wasn't so weird at the time.” He craned his neck, and Mark turned to watch her head towards the back of the club. “Went out with her about a week before we went to Vegas. Drinks. Dinner. Whatever. It was nice.”

“And now?”  
  
“And now she probably thinks I never called because I was busy shagging my boyfriend.” Kian rolled his eyes. “Or she thinks I was using her as cover or something.” He leaned his chin in his hand, sighing. “This is bollocks.”

“Tell me about it.” Mark sighed. He got it, he did. There was something so strange about having everyone know, and then still feeling like he was being forced into a box. Puppeted into whatever bullshit role Simon and Louis had thought up for him this time. It was no better, in a strange way, because he still wasn't being himself. He felt like a total fucking fraud. “I wish I'd done it myself years ago, now. Maybe if I hadn't been such a coward this never would have happened. I'm really sorry.”

“It's not your fault.” Kian reached out, put his hand over Mark's. Mark turned his own hand over and squeezed it in reply. There were cameras going off everywhere now, but he didn't know if it was at them. The place was bursting with celebrities. “It's probably mine. Like, I could get it somewhere else, and I was still shagging you. How messed up is that?”

“Oh, thanks.” Mark scowled, and Kian smirked.

“You know what I mean.” He didn't let go of Mark's hand. “You were never a last resort, okay? It was always because I wanted to.”

“Yeah.” Mark nodded. Kian was pretty much his only sexual outlet, but he would have been lying if he'd ever said that was all it was. It was nice, having sex with Kian. Someone he trusted, who wouldn't judge or go to the papers. And it was always good sex. “I liked shagging you too.” He glanced over. The girl Kian liked had disappeared, apparently, though it was hard to tell in the mass of bodies on the dancefloor. “Would we have stopped if you'd started seeing her?”

“Definitely.” Kian nodded. “I know that sounds like I'm throwing you over, but I wouldn't have cheated on her, you know? I never do, when I'm seeing someone properly.”

“I get ya.” Mark squeezed the hand in his. “Maybe she'll still be around, when all this is over? You can ask her out, and give it another go?”

“When will that be, though?” He sat up a little, still holding Mark's hand. “Simon and Louis still won't say. 'When the tour's over' is a bit vague, isn't it? You know what they're like. It'll be 'oh, wait a week', 'oh well, the new single's coming out', 'oh, just stay together to promote the album'. They'll have us bloody married before we know it. We'll show up to the studio one day and there'll be a priest all ready in the car park.”

Mark laughed, wishing that didn't sound like a very real possibility. “We could always break up on our own.”

“We could, but then shit really will hit the fan.” Kian looked up carefully. “This hasn't been so bad, has it?”

“No. Not so bad.” Mark shook his head. Things were still a bit uncomfortable with the other lads, and he'd already had Brian calling and asking a ton of questions he wished he could answer. But Brian wasn't inner circle any more, and it felt awful having to lie. And to his parents as well. The photo-shoot and interview had been fairly excruciating, but all in all it had blown over quite quickly.

A tray of drinks landed on the table next to him, and he looked up, grinning when he caught Nicky's eye. Shane was behind him, and for a moment Mark saw his gaze flick to their joined hands. He squeezed tighter, refusing to give in to the idea that he should feel guilty or judged. He was going to do what he damn well pleased. He was fucking sick of doing everything for other people. If he wanted to hold Kian's hand, he was going to fucking well do it, regardless of what people might think. Shit, Simon and Louis would probably be ecstatic.

“You looked thirsty,” Nicky announced, shoving Mark over to settle into the booth. “Alright, lads?” They both nodded. Kian pulled his hand out of Mark's, reaching for a drink. Shane plonked down next to him. “I'm dying for something to eat. You want to sneak out of here and go to the McDonalds down the road?”

Another camera flash went off. Oh, brilliant.

“That sounds fantastic,” Mark agreed, knocking his drink back in one go. He wasn't hungry, but getting out of here sounded like a great start. He glanced at Kian. “Alright with you, cuddlebug?”

“Love to, sugar-pie.” Kian smirked, already standing up.

 


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't so bad, really. Things settled down quite quickly. They started trickling in a few interviews in the lead-up to the album release, with lots more scheduled for the next few weeks in the final push. They went to a few more meetings with Louis and Simon, got a couple of approving nods over the article in The Mirror, got shown some photos that had shown up in other publications. Mostly just candid stuff. It was funny, actually, because none of them really showed anything that pegged them as a couple, except for one or two of them holding hands at that nightclub. It was more them walking together, or having lunch, or chatting outside a radio station. Things they'd done a thousand times before, and were still no more interesting than they had been six months ago. But people had decided it _meant_ something now.

All it meant to Mark was that when the cute bartender at brunch had flirted with him, he'd first of all realised that lads were sending him signals, and then realised he couldn't do anything about it.

It would have been hilarious, if he didn't want to put his fist through a wall.

He could have sex now, apparently. With actually attractive human males, and here he was, still with Kian. Or not, because it wasn't like they were having sex either. He didn't even know how he felt about having sex with other people. It all felt a bit frightening. He was used to getting his kit off in front of Kian, not feeling remotely self-conscious about it, not since the early days, knowing what to do and what Kian liked, not having to worry if he was being weird or awkward or not good enough.

But at the same time, it felt thoroughly exciting. Like figuring that out with someone else, even if it was just a one-night-stand, might be a little bit fantastic. He'd never really let himself think about it before, and now that he was, he wasn't allowed. There was probably a lesson in that somewhere.

The worst were the ones that came up to him in the street and said nice things. It was good, of course, that they were doing that, but it made him feel even worse, listening to some really nice, honest guy tell him that Mark was an inspiration in helping him come out to his parents, or listening to a very sweet girl say she and her girlfriend were so happy they could be themselves. He thanked them, gave them a hug, and then proceeded to feel awful that he was such a complete fraud.

They wandered blankly through the process of doing a TV audition thing for a girl to sing on the new album. It was forced and a bit depressing, though at least he managed to see his parents at the recording. His mam had let slip about their 'surprise' the day before, but they got to hang out afterwards at the afterparty, have a bit of a chat and a pint with the other lads and their families.

It was strange. He thought he'd be falling apart in a moment, spilling out the truth the second he saw them, but then his mam had leaned over and hugged Kian before he'd even gotten a chance to say anything, had said something to the effect of 'welcome to the family, love', and then Patricia was hugging him, and he was shaking Kevin's hand, and it all seemed a bit pointless. They started talking about the dads' performance, giggling and getting a bit of a sing-along going, belting out That's Life with the lot of them, sitting in a function room at the TV studios while other people laughed and clapped. Kian grinned at him, and a moment later Mark realised he was being kissed.

He hadn't expected it. There was nothing leading up to it. Nothing suggestive at all, but there he was, and there were Kian's lips, and they were pulling away before he'd even registered it. A hand squeezed his under the table, and Mark raised an eyebrow.

“What was that for?”

“Dunno.” Kian shrugged, letting go of his hand. “You looked happy.” Mark felt his cheeks heat a little, and bit his lip to cover a sudden, hysterical giggle that felt like it was about to burst out.

“Oh, don't be shy, lad,” his mam said, smiling benignly at him. “It's not like we haven't known for ages, and you could have done a lot worse.”

“I should have guessed really,” Patricia added. “They were always in each others pockets as lads, and I always suspected Kian might be a bit...”

“Mam!” Kian blushed red. Kevin laughed, nudging him slightly.

“Oh, come off it lad. She's just messing.” Kian was still red, looking at the table. Mark put a hand on his shoulder. “Still, wasn't exactly surprised.”

“Dad!” Mark's parents were rolling their eyes now, and looking at each other conspiratorially. They'd done this conversation before, but at least it hadn't been in public. “Bloody hell, I still like girls and all.”

“Didn't say you didn't.” He snorted. “At least we know he's a nice lad, bit of a keeper.” Kian smirked at that, and Mark tried to hide a snort. Nice lad. Yeah. “Better than you running around with dancers and girls like that. I always hoped you'd settle down with someone a bit more...”

“Boring?” Mark supplied. Kevin laughed, shrugging. Kian groaned, putting his face on the table, his forehead thunking off the wood. Mark put a hand on the back of his head. “Get up, eejit.”

“Fuck off,” Kian mumbled. Everybody laughed. He sat back up, looking at Mark for a moment. Mark grinned, and then, in a wild stupid moment, leant in and kissed him. Just for a second. Just chastely. But when he pulled away, Kian licked his lips, giving him a lopsided smile.

“Alright?”

“Alright.” Kian nodded, taking his hand again.

 

*

 

“Oh fuck... oh...” Kian arched, his hands hooked under the pillow while Mark swallowed him down, pushing past the slight gag. They'd been booked a room together, because of course they had, just for the night after the show so they could go do radio interviews the next day. They'd just about booked out the floor, with Shane, Nicky, their wives and all their parents. Mark had climbed into his bed, Kian had climbed into the other one, and they'd meant to go to sleep. But then the television had gone on and it was late and they were a bit drunk, so...

Most of these things sort of started out that way, so Mark probably shouldn't have been surprised when Kian rolled over and asked if he was up for it, and Mark had figured why the hell not, he hadn't been laid since Vegas.

“Jesus, that's it...” Kian gasped, one hand tangling in Mark's hair. “God, that's...”

Mark grinned, flexing his tongue against his mouthful. Kian groaned, gripping tighter, starting to rock. Mark pushed his hands under his bum, letting his thumbs drift up the firm sweaty valley, pressing down lightly when he felt the dip of puckered muscle, heard Kian moan.

He liked this. Had forgotten how much amongst all the stress and lies and strain, but he felt okay. Felt good, even. He knew the lie was there, but there was something nice about being looked at proudly by his parents, by someone else's, and being accepted, being embraced. Kian had cheered up considerably too, had been laughing and chatting through the whole thing, though they'd tactfully steered wide of talking about themselves directly. It was like there was a general promise in place to not outright lie unless they had to.

But this was easy. Making Kian feel good. Sliding a finger into him, and listening to a breathless cry when he felt the slight bump that meant he'd gotten the angle right, stroking it over and over, listening to Kian whimper, feeling his hips jerk frantically while Mark tried to hold him still with his other arm.

“Fuck, oh fuck I'm...” He cried out again, pushing deeper, and Mark swallowed fast to accept it all, pulling off slowly and catching bright hooded eyes and a sweaty, heaving chest. Kian looked back at him, his mouth open and panting.

“Can I...?”

“God yes.” Kian's head flopped back into the pillow, and Mark laughed, climbing up to kiss him. Fingers tangled into his hair, and he slid his finger back in, pushed in another a moment later. Kian arched into it, his chest pushing into Mark's, arm hooked around his neck. “Fuck me. Do it. Jesus Christ.” He was still trembling a little bit from his orgasm. His knees hitched up, catching Mark's hips, the kisses turning sloppy and desperate while Mark pushed a third finger in, crooking them and listening to Kian hiss happily, still soft against his belly, but leaving trails of stickiness between them while they ground slowly together, his own erection starting to get fairly desperate.

“You ready?”

“Very.” Kian's mouth captured his again. When he let go, he was looking up expectantly. “Lube and condoms in my toiletries bag. Bathroom.” He pointed, and Mark nodded, getting up to collect them.

He caught himself in the mirror on the way past. It was an odd sight. Starkers, with his own cock bobbing in front of him, leaking a little pre-cum. His face looked flushed, his lips kissed. Apparently that was what Kian saw. He couldn't say he understood the attraction, but there he was, looking pale, soft and a bit pathetic in the harsh bathroom light.

He snagged the necessaries and headed back, averting his gaze as best he could. Kian was still stretched out on the bed, but when Mark came back in he grinned brightly, reaching out a hand, the other stroking himself slowly, the flesh still mostly soft, slipping in and out of his hand.

“Hey,” he said softly, when Mark took his hand, sitting down next to him on the bed. “You okay? You look a bit stressed out.”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” He forced a smile, but Kian mustn't have bought it, because he was sitting up, letting go of himself and pulling him into a hug. “Just a bit...” He shrugged. “I don't know. I feel a bit...” He sighed. “I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to have sex with me because you're not allowed to fuck anybody else.”

Kian pulled back a little bit, looking at him. Mark looked at his own knees, feeling utterly ridiculous.

“What?”

“Just... you know.” Mark shrugged. “Like, I appreciate it and all, but...”

“You're not a pity fuck, if that's what you're thinking.” A finger hooked his chin, pulling him up to meet clear blue eyes that smiled at him. “I like fucking you. You don't like fucking me?”

Mark shrugged. “Yeah, I do. But it's not exactly my first choice either, you know? Not like that...” he added when he saw Kian raise an eyebrow. “I feel like we're doing this because there's no-one else to do.”  
  
“Wow. Well, fuck you too, then.” Kian pulled back, his hand leaving Mark's shoulders. “Didn't realise I was a last resort.”

“You're not!” Mark exclaimed. “Jesus, no. I'm not explaining this very well.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and feeling Kian's evaluating stare, knowing it was hovering on just this side of angry. “Okay, so before, we were shagging each other because we could, right?” Kian nodded, his eyes still flat and annoyed. “But now I feel like...” He sighed. “I don't know, Ki. I just want to know that we chose to, not that we have to. I want to fuck you without thinking about the thousands of stupid reasons we ended up here.

“Mark.” He looked up, watched Kian roll his eyes. “Look, I understand. I do. But I was really quite looking forward to you fucking my arse in a minute.”

“But...”

“Because I really like it when you fuck my arse.” Kian reached out again, his hands finding Mark's shoulders. “And I'm not saying that because of all this shit that's been happening. I'm saying it because I fancy you and I'd really like to come again, and I'd really like to do that while you shaft me into the mattress. And if that sounds like something you want to do, then we should probably do that.

“I do want to...”

“So stop overthinking it,” Kian urged. “We're going to be doing this shit for a while, okay? There's plenty of time to analyse it later, but right now I want this...” He reached down, slid his hand up Mark's erection in a slow, groping squeeze that had him biting his lip and closing his eyes. “Lubed up and inside me in at least the next five minutes.” His hand was starting to move now, stroking it back to full hardness. “Because that feels really good.” He leant in, beginning to kiss up Mark's throat. Mark moaned softly, felt tiny licks start to flicker up his jaw, the hand on his cock moving slow and steady. “Fuck me. I want you.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, and then Kian was squealing out in surprise when Mark grabbed him and tipped him back on the bed, settling between his legs. “Still ready?”

“Never stopped,” Kian gasped, arching up. Mark ripped open a condom packet, rolled it on, his eyelids fluttering at the change in pressure. Then there was a soft pop, and the slick slide of a lubricated hand on him. Their lips met, Kian pulling him against his entrance, lining him up. “Come inside me,” he whispered, guiding Mark in. He nudged a little, barely anything, then it was tight, and Kian was gasping his name, clinging to him, the other hand still tugging him in as Mark's hips did the rest of the work.

“Oh fuck, Ki...” Mark buried his face in the crook of his neck, his mouth tasting salty sweat. Hands palmed his back, squeezing at his shoulder-blades, at his waist while Kian arched and whimpered and drove back. “So good.”

“Told ya.” Kian smirked, and Mark laughed, kissing his ear. They lay there for a moment, snuggled up together, Mark still deep inside, his head rested on a strong, broad shoulder, hands stroking his back. Kian kissed his forehead. “You feel really good.”

“You always feel good,” Mark murmured. Lips caressed his forehead again, and he tilted his face up to intercept them, met a warm and accepting mouth with his own. “I really like fucking you. Sorry, things just feel...” He kissed Kian again, just gently. “...complicated.”

“I know. It's awful.” Fingers rain gently through his hair. “But maybe things will clear up if you fuck me?”

“That makes sense.” Mark rolled his eyes.

“It's science,” Kian agreed, laughing, though it broke off into a moan when Mark rolled his hips a little. “Oh...” he muttered. Mark did it again, still laying along him, just thrusting slowly, all snuggled up in Kian's arms. “That's nice,” Kian murmured. Mark nodded, digging his toes into the sheets for a little bit of leverage. A leg hooked around his arse, pulling him deeper as he began to rock, his mouth finding Kian's. They kissed for a long time, moving slowly. There was no rush, there never really had been. Not because of some twisted romance, but because if there was one person Mark knew would still be there in the morning, it was Kian, even if they usually went back to their own rooms afterwards.

“Love feeling you,” Mark muttered. Kian groaned softly, pushing his second arousal against Mark's belly. “You're so tight.”

“So good...” Kian agreed, grabbing at him, urging him into a slightly faster rhythm. Then he stiffened, crying out and lifting his knees. “Right there. Oh god, right there.” Mark reached down, holding his knees in place, trying to keep the angle, tilting a little to find it again. Kian cried out, this time louder, his hips making circles as Mark thrust slowly. “That's it. Fuck. Fuck.... oh god, Mark... oh...” His voice was getting high-pitched, slightly desperate. Mark groaned, burying his face in Kian's chest and trying to hold off despite the clutching, trembling walls, the heat of Kian, sweaty and whimpering against him.

He nipped at a nipple, trying to distract himself even as Kian's back was bowing hard, his knees almost up to his chest. Mark sat up, grabbed a leg and pulled it over his shoulder, opening him up. Grabbed the other one too, pulling it over the same shoulder, Kian's legs pressed together, the angle perfect, balls trapped between his thighs while his cock throbbed against his belly. Rocked into him, Kian's arse off the bed, braced against nothing but Mark's hand on his hip while he plunged in hard and fast, heard Kian shout, his head tipping back.

“Gonna come... oh fuck, Marky... fuck I can't... gonna...” His hand came down, grasping himself, tugging brutally and then he screamed out something that might have been 'yes' and came in thick spurts that reached his chest, everything in him clamping down on Mark's cock.

“Ki...” Mark kept going, watched his eyes squeeze shut as he rode it out, his hand still moving fast on his own cock. He was still coming, crying out with every pulse, his hand wet, chest glistening with sweat and cum.

“Fuck me,” Kian rasped. So Mark did, hammering home as hard and fast as he could, watching Kian break under him, his hand still stroking even though there was nothing left, pushing Kian's legs out of the way, felt him twist on his cock until Kian was laying on his side, Mark bent over him, biting at his ear while his own climax took him over, rippling through him while Kian clutched at his hair.

“Shit,” Kian breathed when Mark collapsed on top of him, thoroughly spent. He pushed Mark off, and they both rolled over onto their backs, Kian wincing a little. “Shit,” he murmured again. “Top five.”

“Quite good,” Mark agreed, trying to settle his breathing while he stared at the ceiling. A hand slid into his, squeezing gently. “You okay?”

“Amazing.” A breath whooshed out, and when Mark turned to look at him he got a sleepy smile in return. “I haven't come that hard in a long time.”

“You're covered in it.”

“I know.” Kian stretched, yawned a little. Mark reached down to roll off the condom then lifted it up to inspect the contents. Kian laughed, reaching out to poke it, the liquid weight making it swing like pendulum. “Good effort, there.”

“Didn't know I had it in me,” Mark joked. Kian giggled, patting his shoulder. “Shower?”

“Shower,” Kian agreed, pushing himself up.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“So you've come out recently...”

“And you two are together...”

“You're in a high-profile relationship...”

“Now that you're public...”

It was excruciating. Mark had expected it, of course, had known the questions would be asked, but he hadn't been prepared for how awkward it would be. How strange, glancing over at Kian and trying not to burst out into hysterical laughter when they'd mumble something about not wanting it to be a focus and how glad they were to not be hiding it any more. They were doing the rounds – Graham Norton, Frank Skinner, Richard and Judy – and everybody wanted to know the same things. Not about the album, no, just how their relationship was going, as if it was anybody else's business.

The album came out. It went to number two. Simon didn't look happy at all, and Mark got the feeling they were being blamed for it, as if the slicked-back hair and painfully dated songs were their idea, as though the fact that they'd been busted shagging each other was the reason nobody wanted a retread of something Robbie Williams had already done better.

Mark asked if they could pretend to break up their pretend relationship now. Simon said no. Kian laughed, giving him a look like the answer had been an obvious one.

“But why not?”

“Wait until the end of the tour.”

He got it. He did. The album was just out, they'd only just finished professing their undying love, and it wouldn't look good at all having to go on stage for the next four months and have everybody staring at them as though they were about to burst into tears and slap each other. Because that was how breakups worked, wasn't it? Just like this was how relationships worked. With them showing up on page four of The Sun, sitting at the breakfast table while Kian stole a forkful of eggs off Mark's plate.

They'd just been waiting for Shane and Nicky, that was all. Mark had gotten the scrambled eggs on toast, Kian had gotten a bowl of cereal. He'd asked Mark how it was, Mark had offered some, and there was a ready-made relationship moment for the papers. No matter that Nicky had pinched a piece of Shane's toast not twenty minutes later. They weren't in a relationship. They were married. They were straight. They were sitting with their feet up on the coffee table waiting to be called out to the stage.

It was a Christmas show, one of those celebrity carols things. They were all slumped around the dressing room while McFly got their stuff out of the way. It was just a pre-taping to play on Christmas Eve. By the time it aired he'd be home in Sligo, wrapping the last of his presents and putting them under the tree for the morning.

“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...” Shane sang softly. Mark considered joining in and then decided that sounded like a lot of effort.

“You might get lucky there. It's bloody freezing outside.” Nicky yawned, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa. It was nice in here, all heated. Mark had undone his tie a while ago and Kian had shrugged off his suit jacket. They were still keeping up the Rat Pack charade, apparently, had copped the greased-down old-man hair from wardrobe. Shane looked like he was about ninety.

Mark adjusted the starched collar, feeling himself get sleepy in the warmth of the room. “Should be a good gig. I saw Natasha Bedingfield wandering around before.”  
  
“Oh, really? Must've missed her.” Kian shook his head. “She's fit. Look alright?”

“You're asking me?” He snorted. “I was getting my hair sorted, and she was going past on the way to wardrobe. Seemed okay.”

“Lads...” A runner poked his head in and they all paused to look up. “V are going to be on in a minute, and then you're up. Ready?” They all nodded. The man disappeared.

“What's V?” Mark asked. Shane shrugged.

“New boyband,” Kian replied.

“Any good?”

“Not bad. Heard one of their songs the other day and it seemed catchy.” Kian reached for his jacket, began to tug it back on. “Half of them are gay.”

“Really?” Mark was surprised. You didn't often hear a boyband being gay, not without a whole 'coming out' process, anyway.

“Yeah. At least two of them, I think.”

“Does everybody know?”

“I think so.” Kian was tidying himself up. Mark began to reknot his tie, figuring he better get a move on.

“And nobody cares?”

“Not really. I don't think it's even official, but I think it's one of those things that everyone sort of knows. They were never straight, so there's no scandal. It's just 'this is our new boyband', and that was fair enough, if you know what I mean.” He shrugged. “It's funny, isn't it? If they'd been like that five years ago, they'd never even have got signed. I know we wouldn't have.”

“Reckon that's a lot to do with Boyzone,” Nicky pointed out. “Showed you can have a gay one and after a bit everyone just moves on with their lives. Not such a big deal.” Shane nodded. “Honestly I think people are more interested in the fact that you two are shagging each other than that you like lads.”

“We're not shagging.”

“Oh, come off it.” Nicky snorted, standing up and starting to tidy himself up. “The whole floor bloody heard you after She's The One. I know I did. Right next door, and the walls aren't that thick.”

“Jesus, Nicky...” Kian was going red already.

“Did you? I didn't hear anything.” Shane smirked. “What did you hear? Was it filthy?”

“Shane!” Mark gasped, rolling his eyes when he got a grin in reply. “Fuck off.”

“Kian's a bit of screamer,” Nicky interjected. “G was losing it trying not to laugh too loud and put you off. It was all 'yes, fuck, yes, right there...'” He paused, giggling. Mark's face felt on fire.

Shane chuckled. “It's fine. Get your shag on if you like. It's not like you haven't before, is it?”

“Fuck off.” Kian had his hands over his face, was trying to turn away. Mark couldn't help laughing, reached out to catch his elbow. “Fuck off,” he mumbled again, pulling away. Then he was walking into the toilets, the door slamming behind him.

“Ki, come on...” Shane called out. “We were just joking...” He sighed, looking at Mark, than at Nicky. “He's touchy.”

“Shay...” Mark sighed, leaning his chin in his hands. Nicky was looking at him too. “Just leave it.”

“Everything okay?” Nicky asked. Mark shrugged.

“It's not...” He sighed, not knowing how to explain this in simple terms. Not knowing how to put into words the frustration, the anger, not knowing if he should be trying to sum up what Kian was feeling anyway. What he was feeling himself. “Look, I appreciate you lads being cool with this...” Well, more or less, but they were still looking at them as though they expected them to leap on each other, and this wasn't helping. “Just give him a bit of space.”

“We're supposed to be going on in a second, though,” Shane pointed out. Then, speak of the devil, a runner poked his head through the door, called out that there were two minutes left and darted off again.

They all jumped at a sudden loud thump, heads turning towards the toilet door. A moment later Kian came out not looking at anyone, shaking his knuckles.

“Erm... shall we head out?” Nicky suggested finally. They all nodded and Mark headed for the door, hearing Kian fall into step behind him.

 

*

 

The performance went well enough. It was a really boring song, so they just droned their way through it. Mark had recently seen an article that referred to them as the 'grand-dads of pop' and at the time he'd been a bit offended. He was only twenty-four, for god's sake. He felt it now, though, sitting on a stool and droning through White Christmas in a vintage suit. It wasn't just that – this was a gimmick, a passing phase – he felt old in himself. A deep, persistent ache in his soul that had nothing to do with the music. He felt used up, even more when he looked over at Kian and saw his face. The desperate attempt to look earnest and heartfelt and carefully professional.

They finished up, went to the afterparty. He left an hour later when he realised he was having a fairly dreadful time. Kian had already left about ten minutes in, so at least it could be said he'd made an appearance. They were headed home tomorrow anyway, to spend a few weeks in Sligo before tour prep started.

When he got back the room was empty. There was note on his bed.

'Gone to get an early flight home' it said, 'have a good Christmas'.

Mark put the note on the other bed and climbed into his own, turning the television on. He found some porn on pay-per-view and watched the first twenty minutes without enthusiasm, then turned it off and went to sleep.

 

*

 

Mark looked up in surprise when he heard his name called. He'd just been absently sitting at the table in the pub for a while now, eating a basket of chips and reading a free newspaper he'd snagged from the rack near the door. He'd just needed to get out for a bit, had gone for a wander around old haunts to avoid answering another question about whether Kian would be round before he left for Dublin again.

It was two more days until Christmas. His parents had asked if they should set an extra place, or if Mark would be going to Kian's parents for lunch. Mark said he hadn't really thought about it, that they'd probably just have separate Christmases. His mother had given him an odd look at that.

“Hey.” Kian was stood at the corner of the booth, hand scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, the other holding a dripping pint of beer. “How are you?”

“Hey. Yeah. Fine. Hi.” Mark swallowed. He hadn't seen Kian in over a week. The last contact they'd had was that note that had been left on the bed. He looked tired, sort of sombre. “You want a chip?”

“Okay.” Kian shrugged, sinking down onto the bench opposite and shuffling in to lean against the back of the booth. He snagged one, dunked it in the pot of sauce and popped it in his mouth. “Just came down for a pint. Needed to get out of the house.”

“Tell me about it.”

Kian snorted a sour laugh, taking a sip of his drink. Mark lifted his own to gulp in a mouthful. Kian stole another of his chips.

“Sorry,” he said finally. Mark blinked in confusion.

“For what?”

“You know. Leaving a note. I felt like a bit of an arsehole once I got far enough away.”

“It's fine.” Mark forced a smile. Though it wasn't, really. He didn't like the idea that they were avoiding each other. “You needed some space.”

“Yeah. I know. I didn't like leaving you there like that, though. You're dealing with this shit too and I sort of felt like I dumped you in it by yourself. I mean, I was on the plane by the time I realised that so there wasn't much I could do, but...”

“It's fine,” Mark repeated. “I left the party about half an hour after you, so.”

“Shit, we could have gone together or something. I'm so fucking sorry.”

“It's fine,” Mark said again. He reached across the table to pat the back of Kian's hand. “I get it.” He looked back down at his chips, not sure what else to say. “My ehm... my mam wants to know if you want to come for Christmas dinner.”

“Yeah. My mam said the same.” Kian smiled bitterly. “What do you want to do?”

“I don't know,” Mark admitted. “I really don't. If I go to yours I get to sit there feeling like the arsehole who's making you lie. If you come to mine I feel like I'm lying to my family. Then if we spend it apart...”

“Everyone wants to know why. I know.” They both sighed. Kian drained his pint. “Drink?”

“Yeah. Please.” Mark nodded. His was almost empty anyway. He drained it while he waited for Kian to come back, smiled when a large jug was deposited in front of him. “That's how it is, is it?”

“Lately. Yeah.” He was already refilling the glasses. “I could stand getting drunk for a bit. You want to get involved?”

“Sure.” Mark pushed the newspaper away, lifting his glass. “Toast?” Kian shrugged, looking thoughtful. Then he raised his drink.

“To the smell of bullshit.”

“To Louis and Simon,” Mark agreed, clinking them together. Kian shook his head and laughed before his mouth was filled with beer.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“You um... dyed your hair.”

Kian shrugged. “Yeah. Felt like a change.”

“Oh.” Mark nodded. It was odd. He didn't think he'd seen Kian with dark hair since they were kids, and at least then it had looked a natural brown. This was a weird artificial chestnut he wasn't sure of at all. “It um...”

“You hate it.”

“No...” Mark tilted his head. “It's just different.”

“Right, so you hate it.”

“I don't hate it!” Mark exclaimed, laughing and pulling him into a hug. They hadn't seen each other for a couple of weeks, not after spending Christmas lunch at Kian's and dinner at Mark's. It had felt a bit like too much in one go. There had luckily been enough people at both events that they hadn't been the centre of attention the whole time, but it was still enough of a novelty that questions were being asked, though it was diverted when Kian had gotten a call from Shane to announce that he'd just found out they were pregnant, a conversation topic that had held everyone's interest for at least the next hour. Mistletoe had been produced at Kian's parents' place, and they'd ended up kissing under it when one of his brothers had pointed it out with a wink and a smirk.

“You know, if you were actually my boyfriend I'd be offended.”

“If I was actually your boyfriend I'd be telling you it looked amazing even if it didn't,” Mark snorted. “Don't want to piss off the princess.”

“Fuck you.” Kian slapped his back before letting go, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he did. “Prick. I just felt like doing something mad.”

“So you went with brown?”

“No, just...” Kian shrugged. “You know. Something I could do and they wouldn't be able to tell me no. Did it with a home kit in mam's bathroom sink.”

“Bet she loved that.”

“She did once I scrubbed all the stains off the tiles,” Kian laughed. “Big rebellion.”

“It looks cute,” Mark said, running his hand through it. “I liked the blonde, but...”

“Yep, well... it's not really up to you.”

“No. It isn't,” Mark agreed. Kian nodded. He got it. Like a little thing he could do without anyone's permission, without being shepherded or told who he was supposed to be. It admittedly wasn't as rebellious as a tattoo or piercing, but in this industry even the little acts of individuality had to be subtle. He glanced over his shoulder at the dance studio. They were starting the tour in Belfast in three weeks, had done a little bit of work on it before Christmas, spitballing on the feel of it and what sort of songs they wanted for the medley, but now it was all systems go on the proper preparation. Mark was not looking forward to learning new dances.

Priscilla gave them a bit of a knowing nod when they went inside. They hadn't seen her since the announcement and she was really rubbing it in, asking them if they could keep their hands off each other long enough to do the choreography. The other lads sort of laughed along, and Mark forced a few weak smiles, watched Kian do the same. By the time they were done that evening, tired and sweaty, the interest seemed to have passed. She was too distracted with yelling at them for their mistakes to drop innuendo anyway.

“Kian?”

His friend looked up. They were headed back to the parking lot.

“Yeah?”

“I hate your hair.”

“Good.” Kian grinned, nudging him slightly. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Mark nodded. “It looks ridiculous.”

“You're pushing it now.” Kian raised an eyebrow but he was still smirking. “Your jacket is hideous.”

“Cheers,” Mark chuckled, looking down at himself. It wasn't a great jacket. He'd just grabbed it from the laundry on his way out, knowing it would end up sweaty anyway. He wasn't even entirely sure it had been clean when he'd put it on. He was about to make a witty retort when Kian's phone rang.

“Hey Louis,” he said, lifting it to his ear. “Um... yeah, Childline. I know.” He nodded. “Sure. Really? Yeah, cool, I'd love to!” He looked a little excited, eyes flashing over a smile. Mark tilted his head questioningly. “No problem! When... oh.” He glanced over, bit his lip. “I don't know if that's his thing. No, I'm not covering for my boyfriend... Fuck. Okay. Just...” He sighed, covering the mouthpiece with his hand, looking over consideringly. Mark felt the back of his neck prickle. “Louis just asked if I want to host Childline in three weeks.”

“Hey, cool!” Mark clapped him on the back. This was right up Kian's alley. He always liked doing that sort of stuff, getting involved in the skits and things on kids shows and playing up the crowd a bit. Nicky was good at it too. He didn't know how they had the confidence. He thought he'd shrivel up and die if he did it himself. “That's brilliant! You'll love doing that!”

“Yeah. Um.” Kian bit his lip. “He wants us to do it together.”

“Oh.” Mark felt his stomach drop. “Why?”

“Because it'll be cute, I think were his exact words.” They reached Kian's car and stopped walking. Mark's was a little further down. “I'll take that as a no, then?”

“No, thank you.”

“That's what I figured.” He lifted the phone to his ear again. “No thanks, Louis. He's not interested.” There was a short pause. Kian frowned. “Well I don't see why... well, that's not fair, though. Georgina's not... I... Well, I'm not going to fucking make him. Yeah. Well. Okay. You too. Bye.” He hung up and tucked the phone back in his pocket, the frown still chipped into his mouth.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Kian shook his head. “Fucker said if we didn't want to do it he'd just give it to Nicky again.”

“What, by himself?”  
  
“That's what I said! Like, we have to do it as a pair, but Nicky's allowed to do it by himself? That's bullshit. I...” He shook his head. “Fuck it. Whatever.” He kicked lightly at the tyre of his car. “I'm not doing this stupid pantomime bullshit, not on the telly in front of loads of people. And I'm not fucking making you do it. You'd be like a dead fish up there.”

“Thanks,” Mark drawled, though he knew it was true. Kian sighed.

“I didn't mean...”

“I know. I appreciate it.” Mark nodded. Kian leant back against the driver's-side door. “Thanks for not signing me up.”

“Yeah. Course. I wouldn't...” Kian trailed off, reaching for the door handle. Mark had seen it, though, the disappointment in such stark contrast to the excitement rippling across his face not two minutes before. He put a hand on Kian's shoulder and pulled him into a hug. “What's up?” Kian asked.

“Nothing. Just...” Mark let go of him. “I'm sorry. It's not fair for him to manipulate you like that.”

“Well, it's not a new thing.” Kian gestured between the two of them. Mark shrugged weakly in response. “He didn't want me anyway, he just wanted us. Like, cute gay couple us. I shouldn't have...”

“You'd do a really good job.”

“Well, we're not about to find out, so.” Kian opened the door. “Look, I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He slid in. Mark nodded, reaching in to squeeze his shoulder. Kian put a hand over his, squeezed back, but his eyes looked distant. Mark leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. Kian made a disgusted face, wiping it away. Mark laughed.

“See you tomorrow, babe.”

“You too, sugar.” Kian gave him a half smile, pulling the door closed.

 

*

 

Childline came, Childline went. The performances all went smoothly, the after party at Lillies was great fun, but through it all Mark could see was the grim smile on Kian's face, the jealous look in his eyes when Nicky was traipsing across the stage. They hadn't told Nicky what had happened. Mark had wanted to, knew Nicky would probably demand Kian do it with him if he knew, but Kian didn't want that. Didn't want to feel like he was getting it handed to him out of pity.

They caught up with Brian backstage, both of them getting huge hugs, though Brian was looking between the two of them like he still couldn't quite believe it. Mark wanted to tell him, blurt everything out, knew Brian would probably laugh, roll his eyes, and say this was one of the reasons he'd climbed off the train, but Kian wouldn't thank him for that either.

He could see it in Kian's eyes, that if this was going to be their life then he was going to commit to it. He was noticing it more as the weeks went on. What had started as anger and resentment had resolved itself into determination. If this was the role they were playing, they were fucking well playing it.

Mark didn't know how to feel about that.

He wasn't sure if he had any choice in the matter.

 

*

 

“Ready?”

“Ready.” Kian squeezed Mark's shoulder. “Shane?”

“Ready.” Shane adjusted his jacket. “Nicky?”

“Ready ready.” Nicky winked, fiddling with his in-ears. “Mark?”

“Ready.” He reached up, checking his hair was still okay. “All in?”

“In a second.” Kian let go of his shoulder, reached up to tweak a couple of strands of Mark's hair into place. “There we go.”

“Cheers.”

“No problem.” When he looked up Shane and Nicky had joined them in a loose circle. Nicky said a quick prayer, hugs were exchanged, and then it was up to the doors for positions, Mark sidling in beside Kian, the curtain blocking them from the crowd. “Mark.”

Mark looked up, saw a hesitant smile.

“Give 'em hell, yeah?”

“You too.” He pulled Kian into a hug. The others were probably watching, the security guys as well. He didn't care. He was buzzing, nervous and excited. When they drew apart the music was hitting its stride, the lights down. Mark bit his lip as the curtains drew back.

It was manic. For a second it was like the crowd didn't quite notice as they stepped their way through the back couple of rows. Then they did and the screaming went mad, hands reaching out suddenly to grab them. Nicky was laughing, waving madly while girls went hysterical around them.

“Maaaaark....!”

“Hello!” He waved, saw her nearly pass out with excitement. The girl next to her was bright red and shrieking. Kian poked him gently in the back.

“Get a move on.”

“ _KIIIIAAAAAN!”_

Mark giggled.

“Yeah, hurry up,” he teased, saw Kian scowl through his laughter. A hand grabbed at his jacket, another one, then another. Security held them away.

They finally made it up to the stage, barely a moment for a breath before they were launching into Uptown Girl. The others were grinning madly, the crowd going nuts. Kian shot him a smirk. Mark smiled back. He turned back to the audience.

There was a sign a few rows back. It took him a moment to focus, didn't see it right away, but when he did he felt his stomach clench a little, a forced smile freezing itself on his face.

_MARK & KIAN 4EVA_

It was cute, he supposed. Pink and covered in love-hearts. Then he saw the sign next to it.

_I LOVE MARKIAN_

They were everywhere. Bloody everywhere. Kian noticed too. When Mark glanced over the older boy was scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes, a cheesy grin fixed on around a mouth that was mechanically singing the harmonies.

_KIAN + MARK = TRUE LOVE_

_PROUD TO BE A MARKIAN FAN!_

There were a couple of rude ones too, a few directed at them individually, at the other lads, but...

It was... flattering, he supposed. An overwhelmed little pocket of gratitude that so many people were being supportive, were happy for them. That he'd apparently spent six years hiding something he'd never needed to, that people weren't fazed at all. Were overjoyed, if anything, and...

He felt like he should say something in his speech later, couldn't think what that might be. Couldn't think what wouldn't be a lie, like throwing all their well-meant happiness back in their faces. The people they were lying for, and apparently the first lie hadn't been a big deal at all. Now here they were, stuck in the web of bullshit they'd let Simon and Louis spin for them, and Mark couldn't even say that it would make a difference if they found out the truth this time.

He couldn't say that it wouldn't, though.

He didn't end up saying anything, in the end. Just got up, said a few nice, welcoming things. Kian did the same. It felt odd. Normally they'd be mucking about, playing off each other, but every time he stepped near Kian, smiled at him on the way past, it felt they were being watched.

By the time they made it to the end he was starting to loosen up. It was the same as ever, really. Sing the songs, try to remember the choreography. One girl in the front row shouted something really filthy at Nicky, who spent the next five minutes laughing instead of singing, Shane looking at him in confusion and asking what she'd said. Nicky explained it to him while they were changing costumes and Shane spent the beginning of the next song bright red and giggling whenever Nicky looked his way.

They came to the close, thank you speeches before the encore. Kian was second, started to say something about how he appreciated all the support.

“And um...” He paused for a second. Mark glanced over, watched him take a deep breath. “Thanks to the other lads. It's great to be back on tour with you lot again and...” His eyes scanned the audience. Mark swallowed, felt himself tense for some reason. Kian glanced at him. “And especially to Mark, and to everyone who's been so supportive. I love you, babe.”

The crowd went fucking nuts. Mark didn't know what to say. He was up next, but all of a sudden he couldn't speak, his tongue a sponge in his mouth. Kian looked at him, cheeks a little pink, lip bitten. Mark took a deep breath.

He didn't know what he said. It wasn't about Kian, anyway, just did the standard 'thanks, quality, bye'. Then they were backstage again, the crowd thumping out there somewhere like a drumbeat.

“Where's me fecking shirt?”

“Here.” Mark threw it at Kian's head, watched him yank it on. There was a wardrobe girl trying to get Shane's microphone pack clipped back on. “What was that?”

“What?”

“That.” Mark was trying to wriggle into his trousers. It wasn't going well. Kian was buttoning his own.

“Just giving them want they wanted.”

“Yeah, well, do you think you could ask first next time?” He couldn't explain it. The hurt. Being paraded up there like that, everything he felt and didn't feel crammed into a perfectly packaged box and handed to a sea of screaming faces. “That wasn't fair.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's...” He put his hands over his ears, trying to take a deep breath. “Just...” He looked at Kian, saw a confused frown. “Don't worry.” He got his trousers done up, shoved his earphones back in. “Let's just get through the last song, okay?”

“Mark...”

“Just...” He stalked away, climbed onto the platform. Kian climbed onto the one next to him. Mark couldn't look at him.

The crowd went nuts, banners waving everywhere.

He closed his eyes to sing, trying to block it all out.

 

*

 

The next night went a little better. Kian didn't try to bring him up again but there were more signs than ever, white, pink and red. Rainbow. He didn't know why but the rainbow ones hurt the most, big messages of support emblazoned across them in marker and glitter. We love you, no matter what. We're so proud of you. Thank you.

He didn't know if Kian understood. It was like he'd armoured himself up and gone into battle, full of determination. Seemed almost to be having a little fun with it. By the third or fourth night he was pointing a few of them out, laughing along.

Mark wasn't having fun.

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Mark looked up from his pint when an arm draped around his shoulders. He shook it off. Kian pulled away, a look of hurt crossing his face.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing. You didn't...” He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“You can talk to me if you want.”

“I really can't.” He leaned his face in his hands, feeling a hand start to tentatively stroke his shoulders. “I'm just tired.”

“Oh.” The hand kept stroking. Mark felt a sob, slightly hysterical, ache in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down. “You want a hug?”

“No.”

“Right.” The hand left. Mark didn't know if he missed it or not.

“I'm going to bed.”

“It's only nine.”

“I know, I'm just...” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “I'll see you up there.”

“I'll come too, then. There's nothing to do here.”

“Do whatever you want,” Mark muttered, heading for the lifts. Kian didn't follow.

 

*

 

He woke to Kian draped across his chest, a mouth open slightly on his shoulder. Mark blinked at the ceiling. They'd tried to have sex the night before, he could remember that, but it was all a bit of a drunken blur. He'd been drinking a lot lately.

They always did, in fairness, when they were on tour. The crazy buzz of getting off stage at almost midnight and not being able to sleep after all that madness, having to wind down. But where the others were doing the usual, getting blasted and having a brilliant time, Mark was finding it harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning. Sleeping in until noon if he could, crawling out of bed, doing the show, then sinking down at the bar to get as quickly and solemnly drunk as he could.

It probably wasn't a good move, not really, but he didn't know what else to do. Not when Kian was bouncing all over the place, looking excited and unaffected and like none of this mattered.

He wasn't precisely sure what they'd done last night. Kian had gone down on him, he knew that, and he remembered a disappointed and slightly offended face. But he'd shrugged, laughed blankly at the ceiling and Kian had cuddled up beside him and whispered something well-meant about how it was okay.

“Hey.”

He looked down. Kian was looking up, blue eyes tired and ringed.

“Morning,” he yawned. “Gonna go back to sleep.”

“Can't. We've got that thing at the BBC this morning.”

They did. Some pretaping for a variety show. There were a few other acts on as well. Girls Aloud were supposed to be there, and V. Brian had been on a few weeks before. It was almost a year since he'd left and Mark couldn't quite believe it. Almost two months since Christmas. They'd been carrying on this charade for five bloody months and he couldn't believe how much it had become part of his life.

Just like everything else, he supposed. If he'd told himself at the beginning that he'd be hiding his cigarettes, grudgingly going to the gym on a regular basis, and having perfectly reasonable conversations on live television without turning bright red and curling into a ball, he'd call himself mad. After a while you just got used to it. Like your life had been dissected, each bit held up to a bright light to check if it was acceptable, then slotted back in in the wrong order until you couldn't remember that it had been different to start with.

“Mark?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Just... wanted to see how awake you were.” Kian glanced down, and Mark rolled his eyes when he felt a hand creep up the inside of his leg.

“Not that awake.”

“Oh. Right.” The hand moved. “Sorry.”

“I'm really tired.”

“Yeah.” Kian's cheeks were a little pink, though. “Um.” He bit his lip. “You um... you still want me right? Like... you still fancy me?”

Mark didn't know what to say. Kian was attractive. They had pretty good sex sometimes. He hadn't expected to be having this conversation, like Kian was a clingy girlfriend who needed to be assured that her arse hadn't gotten fat.

He didn't know how to explain it. That hardly ever having sex had been quite nice, actually. When they'd both been desperate and it had been a bit dangerous, sneaking off and absolutely going to town on each other. Now Kian was always here and it wasn't...

“I'm just tired,” he said again. “It's not you.”

“Oh. Okay.” Kian hesitated. “Maybe later.”

“Maybe,” Mark agreed, rolling out of bed.

 

*

 

The BBC green room was busy. It always was. Mark tended to find a quiet spot during these things, put on his sunglasses and try to get his bearings a bit. Kian kept wandering over but things had been awkward all morning. He didn't know what he was expected to do about it. An apology was probably the obvious course of action, but he wasn't sure what he was meant to be sorry for.

“Um... hi.”

Mark looked up. There was a guy stood there. One of the lads from V, if he was right. He knew Aaron was the blonde one. This one had close-cropped brown hair and a friendly, awkward smile.

“Hey,” he nodded. “Um.”

“Kevin,” the lad supplied, holding out a hand. Mark shook it.

“Kevin. Hey.” He had a good handshake. “Sorry. Big night.”

“Know the feeling.”

He was fit, actually. They were obviously going the Backstreet, Take That route with marketing this lot. Sleeveless shirts and muscled arms, the bad boy eye-candy bit. They'd been doing alright for themselves. Their singles had all charted, but the album had been a bit of a fizzler. Mark had a feeling they were on borrowed time. He'd seen it more than once.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Go for it.” Kevin sank into the empty seat next to him. “We met at Childine, didn't we?”

“For about four seconds,” Kevin chuckled. “Probably for the best. Any longer and I would've gotten starstruck and started babbling on. Like I am now, I guess.” He rolled his eyes at himself. Mark laughed.

“I'm not that exciting.”

“Most successful boyband of all time?”

“Think you want the Backstreet Boys for that.”

“Yeah but...” Kevin hitched a shoulder. “Can I say something?” Mark nodded. “I'm gay. Like, I am and... it's really cool that you and Kian are...” He blushed a little bit. It was very cute. “I used to fancy you, actually. When I was younger. And I thought 'ah, they're all straight, no one wants a gay guy in a boyband' and... I don't know what I'm trying to say exactly but... It's sort of comforting, I guess. You're really brave.”

“I don't know,” Mark sighed, feeling himself go pink. Kevin was still looking at him earnestly. “We got outed by the paps. It wasn't exactly brave.”

“Yeah. I know. That really sucked. I'd be gutted if that happened to me.”

“Everyone knows you're gay.”

“Nobody knows who I _am_ ,” Kevin laughed. “Everyone knows who you are. Shit, you don't know who I am. I'm just some mental chewing your ear off.”

“Kevin, right?” He reached out a hand, teasing, had it shaken. He got a bashful grin. Found himself smiling back. Kian called his name, and when he looked up he was being motioned to the door, the others already filing out. “That's me. I'd better go.”

“Okay. Well... good performance, I guess? I mean, it will be. You're bloody Westlife aren't ya? Sorry, I'm going to stop talking.” He was still pink. Mark didn't know why, but all of a sudden he wanted to give the kid a hug. Not that he was that young, really. Maybe twenty, twenty-one. Mark glanced at him over his shoulder as he headed for the door. Kevin was already heading over to talk to the other guys, but as Mark went out he looked up and gave him a grin and a wave.

Mark waved back, not sure what to do with himself.

 

*

 

There was no gig that night. After the interview they sang Flying Without Wings because they'd stopped doing the bloody Rat Pack stuff the moment they could. When he glanced over he could see V waiting in the wings, tidying themselves up and chatting quietly.

They didn't hang around after singing. There were a bunch of radio interviews to do for the afternoon, as though there was much point promoting a tour that was about sold out anyway, but it was fine. They asked the same questions about he and Kian, he and Kian gave the same answers, and then they headed over to the hotel bar to see about getting a pint.

“That went well,” Shane commented. Mark nodded.

“Yeah. Solid day.” He felt pointless saying it, but there it was. A cocktail was slid in front of him. He waved his thanks to the barman. Kian sank down beside him. A hand squeezed his thigh. Shane glanced at it, then pretended he hadn't.

Mark turned back to his cocktail.

 

*

 

“ _God_ yes.”

Mark bit his lip, arms braced on the sheets. Kian was moving. Sinking in deeper and twisting his hips a little. Fingers dug into the soft flesh of his hips, tightening when Kian gasped again.

“That's...” He groaned. “Marky...”

“Fuck,” Mark muttered, reaching down to grip himself. Fingernails bit into his thighs, Kian's grip adjusting, yanking him back.

“Is... oh fuck...” Kian breathed. “Good for you? There?”

“Yes...” He closed his eyes. It was good. Kian's grip rocking him back, Kian rocking forward, both of them meeting in the middle. He groaned, seeing stars flash behind his eyelids.

“Oh my god,” Kian gasped. “Oh my god, Mark. You...” He cried out, slammed in again. “Fucking hell, babe. Fucking hell. Ah...” There was another cry, this one cracked and a bit desperate. Mark braced himself harder, felt Kian shiver, felt the length inside him twitch, pulse. “God _yes_.”

Kian barked out his orgasm. Jolting suddenly into Mark and bending forward, teeth in Mark's shoulder and biting too hard, probably leaving a mark. They let go a moment later. Kian stilled, panting against Mark's shoulder.

“Oh...” He drew out slowly. Mark whimpered. Felt everything contract, ache where they'd gone too hard. Kisses sucked down his spine, hands tilting him until he rolled over onto his back, hard against his belly and Kian bending down to take him in, panting mouth closing tight around him.

“Kian,” he breathed. Carded his hand into chestnut hair. His hips lifted. Kian made a content hum, vibrating around swollen flesh.

He came over his stomach a few minutes later, Kian pulling off just before he went, nipping at his balls while he cried out and spilled up Kian's wrist. Kian crawled back up, kissing slowly until he reached Mark's mouth, and collapsed carefully beside him.

“Good for you?”

“Yeah.” Mark closed his eyes for a second and exhaled slowly. That had been good. Best in a while. Only one in a while, really. He didn't think they'd done it since January and now it was almost March. But he'd seen Kian the last few days, looking slightly hurt whenever Mark would rebuff his advances, getting a little more insistent and flirty as the days had gone on. Mark supposed he got it. They weren't fucking anyone else, couldn't risk it, and Kian was probably hard up.

And this had been good. He felt a little more relaxed, found himself laughing slightly when Kian looked up and gave him a cheeky grin.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Kian snuggled into his shoulder. “That was nice.” Mark nodded. “Haven't done that in a while.”

Mark didn't reply. There wasn't much he could say that wasn't going to make him sound like a petty arsehole, and it was probably going to lead to a fight. There'd been a lot of that lately. He knew he was being passive aggressive, but so was Kian. He didn't know what it was. They'd never had to negotiate through their friendship before.

“We've been a couple for over six months, you know.”

“We've never been a couple.”

“You know what I mean.” Kian's eyes were hesitant. “It's been okay, right? Not as bad as I thought.”

“No flaming pitchforks.” Mark shrugged.

“Yeah.” Kian bit his lip. “Well, just gotta get through the tour.” Mark nodded. “Wonder if they'll let us do it after the tour, though? Or whether they'll say 'oh, just until the next album'.”

“Just until we're dead,” Mark snorted. Kian nodded. “We could just do it, you know? They couldn't stop us, really. Next time we're on telly we could just drop it.”

“Could you imagine the look on Louis' face?” Kian chuckled. “He'd explode. No, it's been okay. Just gotta wait it out a bit longer and you won't have to pretend to like me any more.”

“I do like you.”

“Yeah.” Kian paused. “Do you, though? You've hardly spoken to me lately.”

“I'm tired.”

“You can talk to me.”

“I really can't,” Mark sighed. “I don't want to argue, Kian. I really don't.”

“So ignoring me is better?”

“Kian...” Mark could feel himself starting to rankle. “Don't start a fight.”

“I'm not. I'm asking a question.”

“What's the question?”

“Do you like me?”

“It's not...” Mark closed his eyes, trying to breathe. Trying to find a way to explain to Kian how it wasn't that fucking simple. That it wasn't about whether Kian was his friend or not, it was about watching him every night, giggling and pointing out all the signs saying they were together. Kian didn't seem to get that this was his _identity_. The thing he'd hidden for so long, that he'd tried to come to terms with. That this was a part of him, a part of his life, and he still didn't know what that was bloody well supposed to mean because he was doing just as much lying as he ever had.

That this was a game to Kian, apparently. An inconvenience, but still just another suit to put on. This wasn't something Mark could put on. This was his fucking _life_. And here he was again, lying about everything just so other people wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable or let down. Feeling like everyone else's success relied on him carrying a lie on his shoulders, feeling impossibly guilty every time he even thought about coming clean.

“Mark?”

“We're friends,” Mark said. “I like you. I'm really, really tired. I just...” He wanted to cry for some reason and hated himself for it. “Why do we have to label it? We never had to before.”

“I'm not asking for a label. I just wanted to make sure...”

“We're not a couple, Kian. You don't have to behave like my girlfriend.”

Kian sat up. Mark opened his eyes. He was getting a hurt frown and wanted not to feel bad. Wanted not to feel like a complete arsehole.

“You absolute prick. Do you even...?” Kian crossed his arms and stood. “Do you get how fucking hard this is for me? I had to tell the world I was gay! Do you even get...” His lips pursed in, cheeks going red. “It's alright for you, you know? Everyone knows you're gay and I have to pretend... I had to tell my parents we were fucking. I had to tell them that. My fucking parents saw me kissing you and they didn't even...” His voice cracked.

“Kian...”

“And I feel like I'm on my own because now you don't even want me. I can't talk to the others because every time they look at me like...” He gulped. “Do you get for a second how lonely...” Kian shook his head, reaching for his trousers. “I'm gonna go sleep in with Shane.”

“Kian...” Mark reached out. His hand was shrugged off. He felt a lump fill his throat, shame and anger. “Kian.”

“What?”

“Just...” He stood, pulled Kian into a hug and felt him struggle for a moment before relenting. He wrapped his arms around his friend. Felt him sag. “I'm sorry.” He felt hands settle grudgingly on his hips.

“Why won't you just talk to me?” Kian wasn't crying, but he looked like he badly wanted to. Mark knew how that felt. Mark kissed his hair. “I'm really tired,” he breathed.

“I know,” Mark murmured. “Me too.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

It was halfway through April before he ran into Kevin again.

They were doing Newcastle, still working their way through the tour. Things had started to settle again. He and Kian felt a little more back to normal, had silently resolved to at least make an attempt to do this thing together. Kian had calmed it down on the public displays. The banners were still there but they stopped mentioning it, would turn interview questions away from it where they could. Louis and Simon were both put out but Mark couldn't be bothered caring. They were just doing what they were told. There was no point going above and beyond.

Mark was sitting, just trying to chill out a bit before the gig. They had separate dressing rooms, which was a bit of blessing, and that seemed to help at least. Let him get his head into order before the show so he could at least feel like himself when he went out there. Sometimes the others came around to visit but otherwise it was his space. He liked it like that.

He was just grabbing a bottle of water and trying to decide if he needed the toilet when a security guard stuck his head in and said he had a visitor.

“Hey.” Mark smiled. Kevin was stood there, waving awkwardly in the doorway. “Kevin, right?” he teased.

“You remembered,” Kevin chuckled, though he looked pleased that Mark had. “Sorry. I didn't mean to barge in. I actually had tickets to the gig, and one of my mates is in the support act so I thought I'd say hi while I'm back here.”

“Well... hi.” Mark twisted the top of a bottle of water. “Come in if you like.” Kevin did, sidling through. “You want one?”

“Oh... yeah, okay.” Kevin took a bottle. “Thanks.” Mark nodded and took a sip. “Looking forward to the concert.”

“Yeah, should be good. You live around here?”

“Yeah. Back with my parents until I figure out what to do next.”

“I heard you guys split up.” Mark gave him a sympathetic smile, though he had to admit he wasn't that surprised. He'd seen it dozens of times. There were plenty of cute boys who could sing well, but that didn't mean they were going to stick around. Mark counted himself lucky. “Sorry.”

“It's fine. I mean, I'm gutted, but you know.” He shrugged. “Haven't decided what I want to do next. I was thinking about maybe going back to photography. I was playing about with it a bit before all this went mad. Either that or be a vet.”

“You like animals?”

“Yeah. Dog person. Cats are shifty.”

“I know,” Mark snorted. “Sneaky fuckers.” They both laughed awkwardly. “Hey, well let me know how it goes. You coming to the after party?” Kevin shrugged. “Come if you like. I'll vouch for you.”

“Really?” He really was cute, and this was a bad idea. Mark didn't know why he was doing this. Inviting him anywhere. He was just some guy who hadn't really been famous, but Mark wanted to talk to him a little longer. Could feel himself fidgeting in a way he hadn't since the last time he'd really fancied someone, a guy who'd worked catering a few years before on a video shoot.

“Yeah. Course. It's...” He grabbed a bit of notepaper from the pad on the table. “Here.” He scribbled down the address. “And...” He added his number too. “If you get lost.”

“This is your phone number?” Kevin looked at it. Mark shrugged. “Ooh, people will be jealous now. I've got Mark Feehily's phone number.”

“I don't hand it out to just anyone.”

Kevin folded it up with a laugh and shoved it deep in his jeans pocket. “I'll keep it safe,” he promised. He smiled at Mark. Mark wished he wasn't fluttering. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” The light dinged above the door. “That's me. Sorry.”

“No. Of course. I'll um...” Kevin patted his pocket. “See you then, I guess.”

“See you then.” They both went out the door together and got a little stuck. Mark felt himself go hot when Kevin's arm touched his and wished he hadn't.

Kevin wished him a good show. Mark headed off to find the others.

He had a stupid smile on his face for the entire gig.

 

*

 

Kevin was a sweetheart, actually. They talked most of the night, and it turned out they had an awful lot in common. Their senses of humour seemed to gel, and by the time everyone was starting to head towards cabs the two of them had been giggling near the bar for over two hours.

“Mark.” A hand touched his arm. He looked around. Kian. He'd drifted over a few times, stood and joined in on the conversation, then wandered away again a few minutes later. “Honey,” he said pointedly. Mark glanced at Kevin, realised he was looking anywhere but the two of them. Oh good.

“What's up?”

“I'm heading off.” Kian smiled, but it was forced. Mark knew a genuine Kian smile, and this wasn't it. “You coming?”

“I...” He looked between the two of them. It wasn't that late. He wasn't even really tired, and he'd been having such a nice time. Kevin smiled awkwardly.

“I guess I'll see you another time.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. Kian's hand was tightening on his arm. “You still have my number, right?”

“I do.” Kevin glanced nervously at Kian as Mark was towed away.

They sat in the cab in silence. Mark had a feeling he was in trouble, had a feeling he knew exactly why. He was already pissed off. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong, was it? He'd had a really good time talking to a cute boy. This was what people were supposed to do.

When they got into the room Mark went to have a shower. When he got out Kian was sat on his bed.

“Mark.”

“Kian.” He sat down on the other one, facing his friend. Kian's hands were folded together. That wasn't a good sign. Kian only did that when he was settling in for a serious chat.

“You want to explain to me what you were doing?”

“What was I doing?” Mark raised an eyebrow. He was a little tipsy, but he wasn't going to use this as an excuse to back down. “I was talking to a friend.”

“You were all over a boy.” Kian's knuckles went white, his hands tightening around each other. “Do you have any idea how _embarrassing_ that is? I had two people ask if I was worried about keeping my fella. Two! Do you...” He scowled, and glared at the floor, looking like he was barely holding his anger in check. Mark knew how that felt.

“I was talking to a guy I get along with, Kian! I'm not your trophy. I'm not going to hang off your arm all night.”

“I don't expect...”

“Go hit on your lass from Girls Aloud, if you want. I really couldn't give a shit.”

“Girl Thing, and her name's Jodi.”

“I don't care what her name is.” Kian was going red. “I _really_ don't. I don't care if you want to stand there for two _days_ and talk to her. I don't care if you want to bring her back here and have sex on my bed. I'll happily go sleep down the hall if it'll keep you _off my case_.” He stood up. “Fuck it, I'll go sleep down the hall right now.”

“Would you stop acting like a prat?”

“Would you stop acting like this is _real?_ ” Mark shot back, standing up. “What do you want? You want me to stay locked up in the room all the time, and only let me out for concerts and couples shots? I'm not a novelty item, Kian! I'm a fucking human being, and you know what? He was cute. I liked him. If my life was normal and I wasn't in this stupid fucking charade, I'd probably ask him out, and then we could go on a date, and maybe it'd go really well and maybe we'd have sex. And I wouldn't ask your opinion on _any_ of it, because it's _none of your business_.”

“It _is_ my business!” Kian stood as well. “It's the very definition of my business. This is my _job_.”

“No, your job is to stand around and mime to a backing track while me and Shane sing.” Kian's mouth dropped open. He looked like he'd been slapped. Mark didn't care. “Sometimes you half-arse a guitar riff so we can pretend you actually do something here. That's your job.”

“What about you?” Kian's hands were in fists by his side. “You fucking swan around and scream a high note every now and then, and what else? You hardly talk in interviews, and when you do you waffle on like a fucking idiot, you don't help with any of the decisions, then you complain afterwards, like you could have been bothered having an opinion. I work my _arse_ off. You just show up.”

“I...” Mark closed his mouth, felt his lips thin with the effort it took not to shout back. Kian was bright red, trembling, and Mark could barely breathe. “I'm done,” he bit out. Kian's gaze didn't falter, just narrowed into a harder glare. “I'm so fucking done with this.”

“Tell me about it.” Kian let out a hard laugh. Mark couldn't remember hating him so much, hated feeling like that. Hated all of it. “If we're going to pretend, fuck it, let's pretend. Otherwise, don't talk to me. Don't even look at me.”

“Works for me.” Mark stalked to his bag. “I'll be in with Shane.”

“Be wherever you want. Just don't be here.” Kian stormed into the bathroom. The door slammed.

Mark sighed and started to haul his suitcase down the hall.

 

*

 

Shane knew better than to comment when Mark moved in with him. A few days later Mark had an extra room organised. They put it under the name of a fake crew member, and when they booked into the next hotel he went silently up to his own room. By the time they got to Nottingham two weeks after they'd fought, he had managed not to say a single word to Kian apart from 'pass the salt'. Kian hadn't even said that. They talked around each other, of course, when asked things in interviews, but if either of them actually turned to face the other, touched the other, even in the smallest way, Mark didn't notice.

His room was too quiet.

Mark lay, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the alarm to go off so he could start a brilliant new day of being Kian's boyfriend.

When he got down to breakfast Kian wasn't there.

“Hey.” He slumped into the seat. Nicky and Shane both glanced up, pursed their lips, and looked back at their eggs. Mark asked for a coffee.

“So... day off today, huh?” Shane sounded nervous. Mark nodded vaguely, wondering if he should just get his breakfast to his room instead.

“You know,” Nicky attempted. “Me and Shane had a falling out a few months ago. Didn't talk for days, but then we were okay again.” He hesitated. “This is... like that, right? Did you guys argue or something? Need some time, or...”

“I... don't know,” Mark admitted. Shane shifted uncomfortably.

“Have you tried talking about it?”

“We definitely did that,” Mark snorted. “Look, we're being professional, right? It's not going to affect anything.”

“Brian was being professional,” Nicky murmured. Shane bit his lip.

“I'm not Brian.”

“I know.” Nicky sighed, stirring his eggs. “I know.” He looked up. Kian was sidling over to the table, picking through the other diners. He sat down, ordered a coffee as well. Mark stood up.

“I'm not hungry, actually,” he muttered. Nobody would look him in the eye.

He was going to go back to his room, but instead he headed outside, looking for a taxi.

 

*

 

Mark didn't think he was the kind of person who was prone to wild romantic displays, which was probably a good thing, because this definitely wasn't that. He barely knew Kevin, had only spoken to him a few times, but for a moment he was the only person Mark wanted to talk to. Someone who actually _got_ it.

The spontaneity was probably ruined by him having to stop the cab halfway there and call to find out where Kevin actually lived. Kevin had sounded confused, but given him the address anyway, and an hour later Mark was stood on the doorstep of an apartment building, finger on the buzzer.

“Hey.” He got a grin when he finished climbing the stairs. “This is a surprise.”

“Yeah, I was... in the area.” Kevin laughed.

“Aren't you doing Nottingham tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” Mark admitted. Kevin was still looking at him expectantly. “Hey, so you moved out of your parents' house. That's cool.”

“Last week. One of my mates said he had a room free, so I figured...” He gestured over his shoulder. “He's out at the moment, anyway. You want to come in?”

Mark did. Kevin put the kettle on. It wasn't a great place, a little worn, furnished in the eternally sparse style of a university student, with unframed movie posters on the walls and a futon that looked like it had seen better days. He sat down on it, heard it make a warning creak, and saw Kevin wince.

“Oh. Yeah. Tread carefully.” He finished making the tea and brought over a cup. “So, you were in the area, huh?”

“Yeah.” Mark grimaced. Kevin tilted his head, eyes dancing. “I guess I don't know why I'm here, exactly. I had a day to kill, and I figured I'd see how you were going.”

“So instead of calling you drove three hours to find out?”

“I guess so.” He took a sup of his tea. “Tea, as well. That's a bonus.” Kevin chuckled. “I'll drive three hours for a good cuppa.”

“You'd get along with me mum, then.” Kian sipped his own. “Mark, look, I'm not stupid, alright?” he said finally, once he'd put the cup down. “I know... we were flirting a bit at the afterparty a couple weeks ago, but I'm not looking to being someone's... affair or... or bit on the side or something. It's not personal, but...”

“Oh. God.” Mark felt himself go red. “No. I wasn't...” Kevin was blushing as well, but didn't look like he entirely believed Mark. “No.” He laughed, though it felt a touch hysterical. Kevin was still studying him. “I mean, yeah, you're cute and stuff, but I... I'm not that kind of person either. I don't think I'm organised enough to have an affair.” That got a small laugh. “I just liked you and I wanted to see you,” he admitted. “It's nothing to do with Kian.”

“Really? Because he looked a bit jealous last time. I thought maybe you got in trouble or something.”

“No.” He had, but not in the way Kevin was thinking. “No, it's... it's really none of Kian's business. Erm...” Fuck, Kevin was cute. “Why, were you flirting with me?”

“Little bit,” Kevin mumbled. He smirked awkwardly. “Like, if you were single, yeah. You're fit and stuff, and I like you. We got along okay.”

“We did.” Mark sighed. “What... if I was single?”

“You're not, though.”

“I...” Fuck it. “I am, actually.” Kevin's eyes were narrowing. “The... the thing in The Sun?” Kevin nodded. “We've had like a casual thing going for a while, but then we got careless and suddenly it's in the papers and Louis said we had to...” He sighed. “Fuck.”

“That's awful.” Kevin leaned forward slightly. A hand closed gently around his. “Oh my god, no wonder you both looked so uncomfortable that night. How long...”

“Since we were sixteen. It was a shag, and then we got caught, and now we're just... stuck in it. I don't love him. I don't even think he loves me – he's not even gay, it was just a bit of fun - but we're just kind of trying to hold it all together. Simon and Louis said we could break up properly after the tour.”

“Jesus...” Kevin breathed. “Jesus, Mark, that's...” The hand on his tightened. “Okay, well at least now I don't have to feel guilty about fancying you. Fuck.” Mark felt a little thrill at that, though he tried to keep looking sombre. He wanted to laugh.

“You'll keep it to yourself?”

“You can trust me. Definitely. Um.” Kevin reached out, and they shifted uncertainly for a moment before ending up in a loose hug. A hand patted his back. When Kevin pulled away he looked back down at his mug again, then drained it. He put it down on the table. “How about something a little stronger?”

Mark smiled, watching him stand up. “Sounds great.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

“You look happier.”

“Do I?” Mark shrugged on his shirt. They were doing costume change, all crammed up in the space under the stage in Munich. Nicky was across from him, trying to get his shoes on the right feet.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” He tried to stop himself smiling too hard. He and Kevin had been texting each other almost every day in the week since they'd parted ways. It had been nice. They'd had a bourbon and coke each from a cheap bottle Kevin had produced from the pantry, and Mark had stayed over for a couple of hours, the two of them watching TV and chatting. It had been nice, hadn't felt like it was going anywhere particular, just like two friends hanging out together.

He and Kian were still weird. He'd made an effort when he'd gotten back, gone out to dinner with everyone and managed to ask Kian how he was. Kian had replied hesitantly that he was fine, and by the end of the night they'd almost had a conversation, if dancing awkwardly around each other could be called one.

He'd talked to Kevin about how they hadn't been speaking. Kevin had asked if he intended on doing that forever, because if he didn't he might as well put a stop to it now. He'd been right, of course. It had helped talking to him, getting a viewpoint from someone outside the situation. Shane and Nicky were fine, but they had a vested interest in the whole debacle, and Kian was their friend too.

“Mark.” He looked up. Kian. “Check your shirt buttons.” Mark glanced down. One was fastened wrong.

“Thanks.” He nodded gratefully, got a careful smile back. Nicky and Shane gave each other a meaningful look.

Mark fixed up his buttons and headed towards the stage.

 

*

 

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Kian accepted the gift. It was in a flat box, almost as long as Kian was tall. “What is it?”

“A puppy.” Mark rolled his eyes. “Open the thing, alright?”

“Fine...” Kian tore off the paper. “Oh... Mark.” He laughed in surprise. “Thank you. It's...” He took off the lid and lifted out the electric guitar. “Wow.”

“It was the one you wanted, yeah?”

“It was the one I wanted,” Kian agreed. “Thank you.” He put it down carefully against the side of the sofa they were sitting in, then leaned in for a hug. Mark hugged him back. It was the first time they'd properly touched in over a month, and for a moment he lost himself. In the familiar feel, the familiar smell, in the automatic kiss that brushed to his cheek. Sure, they were sat in the VIP room of a nightclub, which happened to be filled with a whole bunch of strangers, but for a moment it was just the two of them. “I love it.”

“I'm glad.” He felt his pocket buzz, and knew who it was without checking.

“Maybe I can do a half-arsed riff, so it looks like I do something around here.” Mark went to protest, but when he pulled back Kian's smile was gentle.

“It's cool, I'll just scream for a bit so nobody notices I can't be bothered working.” Kian went red as well. Mark wanted to say something, but the others were watching, and this wasn't a conversation to have in public. “Have a great birthday.”

A camera went off. Mark hugged Kian again, and then let go.

He went outside to check his phone.

 

*

 

Kian landed next to him on the dressing-room sofa. Mark tried to wipe the smile off his face. He'd been wearing it half the day, felt it come back whenever he'd felt his phone buzz. They were two days out of going to Newcastle again, and Mark had already organised seats for Kevin. He'd gotten him two, said he could bring someone if he wanted, but Kevin had said no, there was no-one to bring, a cheeky lilt to his voice.

“Who you texting?”

“Just a friend.”

“Who?” Mark managed to move the phone away before Kian could peer over his shoulder.

“A friend.” He shoved it back in his pocket, and tried to resist the urge to pull it out when it vibrated again. Kian raised an eyebrow.

“Really.” He looked pointedly at Mark's phone. “We're not going to do this again, are we?”

“I...” He pursed his lips, saw Kian do the same. “Kevin.”

“From V? The kid you brought to the afterparty?” Mark nodded. “You're seeing him?”

“No,” Mark said quickly. He wasn't anyway. They just talked a lot, and it was good to have a friend. “No, we're just...”

“Friends,” Kian finished, though there was a smirk in his voice. Something else, too. Something soft and sad. Mark wanted to hug him, suddenly. “Do you...” He paused, swallowed hard. “You like him, don't you? Like...” He swallowed again. Mark took his hand, felt it pull away. “You know, even when you're pretending to be in love with me, you never look at me like that.” He shook his head. “Tour's almost over, I guess. I hope...” He stood up. “I hope it works out.”

“Kian...”

“It'll be good, you know, once this is over.” Kian smiled weakly. “Going back to normal. To what we had before. The last few months have been...” He raked a hand through his hair. “Well. Maybe we can be friends again.”

“We are friends.” He stood as well. Kian watched him warily, then relaxed a little when Mark pulled him into a careful hug. Arms wound around his waist. “I love you,” he murmured, felt Kian hold him tighter. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too.” Kian's voice was thick. “Let's break up, okay? I've had it with this shit, and I miss the hell out of you.”

“I would love to break up with you,” Mark laughed. Kian kissed his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” Mark didn't want to be the first one to let go, and it appeared neither did Kian. The door creaked open. They both looked up, saw Shane and Nicky peering in. “Hey.”

“Hey.” If they were curious, they didn't comment on it. Kian let go. Mark did as well. “Showtime?”

“Showtime.” Shane nodded. “You guys are back together, then?”

“No.” Kian grinned, grabbed Mark's hand. “Definitely not.”

 

*

 

The Newcastle show was a blast. Kevin didn't have time to pop in beforehand, but Mark got a text letting him know that he'd found his seat and was looking forward to the gig. Mark wasn't sure where exactly he was sitting, couldn't have seen him over the lights anyway, but it was comforting knowing he was out there. It was like when his family came to a show. Yeah, it was fun performing for all those people, but knowing there was someone there just for you, who actually meant something, was a little thrill all on it's own.

“Is he here, then?” Kian murmured as they were heading back to their dressing rooms, Nicky and Shane talking and laughing behind them. Mark looked up, saw a hesitant smile. They weren't completely comfortable with each other yet. Mark knew Kian was watching his words, and Mark was doing the same, not wanting another blow-up. Even if they were back on talking terms the whole thing was just too fragile. Mark had a feeling they'd both said a lot of things that would take more than an apology to erase.

“Who?”

“You know.” Kian rolled his eyes. “You've been stuck on your phone all day, and I know he lives around here.”

“He's here.” Mark nodded. Kian nodded slowly back while he loosened his tie .

“Is he coming to the afterparty?”

“If you don't mind.”

“I... no. Course not. None of my business.” Kian hesitated. “Is he going back to your room tonight?”

“Kian...”

“Just in case I need to run interference. I can say you were sick or something. I don't mind...”

“I'll let you know, okay?” Kian's face fell slightly. “I honestly don't have any plans, but if something happens...” He was really hoping something was going to happen. Wasn't sure now, with Kian looking so nervous. “I don't have to. I can wait until after we make it official if you want.”

“No. God. I mean, don't put your life on hold for me. It's like before when I was shagging girls and stuff. It doesn't mean anything.”

“Exactly.” He had the sudden feeling that it meant something to Kian. Wasn't sure what to do with that, except Kian had been so strange through the last few months, had taken it much harder than Mark had expected. He hadn't been level himself, in fairness, but Kian...

No. They were friends. That was stupid.

“I was thinking about calling Jodi, you know? After this is over.”

“Are you going to tell her the truth?”

“I don't know.” They turned a right, stopped in front of Kian's dressing room. Shane and Nicky kept going down the hall, waving idly over their shoulders. “Did you tell him?”

“Sort of,” Mark admitted. “Yeah. He was actually pretty cool about it. He thought I was trying to cheat on you or something, so I figured I'd better say something or he'd think I was a complete arse.” Kian laughed at that. “And before you say it, yes I'm a complete arse.”

“You bet you are.” Kian pulled him in for a hug. Mark hugged him back, heard a soft laugh.

“Mark?” They both looked up. Kevin, shifting awkwardly next to a security guard. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Mark pulled away, felt Kian cling to him for the barest moment before they separated. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn't miss it. Great show. All of you.” He nodded at Kian, who nodded back, lips thinning slightly. Mark felt his stomach knot and hoped this wasn't going to be a fight. “Kian, mate, you sounded fantastic.”

“Thanks.” Kian turned towards his dressing room. “I'm gonna get changed. Nice seeing you, Kevin. Catch up at the after party?”

The door was closed before Kevin could reply. The security guard wandered away, now that he was apparently convinced that Kevin was allowed to be here and wasn't going to try to stab one of them. They were all alone. Mark loosened his tie a little.

“I have to get changed, but...”

“I'll wait outside.” Kevin followed Mark the distance down the hall to his dressing room, their steps falling in sync. Mark resisted the urge to take his hand. They paused outside his door. “You know, if you don't have to be at the party straight away, there's an all-night diner around here that does killer hot wings.” Mark looked at him in surprise. Kevin shrugged, a nervous grin flitting over his mouth. “Just if you were interested.”

“Sounds great,” Mark decided. “Be out in five minutes.”

 

*

 

Mark really didn't want to go to the after party. He'd gotten two texts from Kian already, asking where he'd gone, and had replied that he'd gotten caught up and would try to make it in a bit. He knew what Kian was thinking, but it was far from the truth. Instead, he and Kevin was squashed in a booth in the corner, trying to demolish an enormous plate of chicken while their third beers sat almost empty on the table in front of them.

“You weren't wrong about the food.”

“It's brilliant, right?” Kevin grabbed another piece and began to pick the skin off with his fingers. He was all greasy and messy, but so was Mark, and it certainly didn't hurt the cheeky grin in his eyes. “You'll be shitting lava tomorrow, but it's worth it.” Mark shook his head, laughing. “We can go to the party after this. I just thought it'd be nice to see you without all the... you know. Mess.”

“Without Kian, you mean?”

“No. Kian's fine. Just the other stuff. I know what it's like, believe me, when you're trying to look and behave the way everyone expects you to. It's worse for you lot, obviously, but sometimes it's nice to just...” He gestured at the table.

“It really is.” Kevin gave him a bright smile. “You want to blow off the party, actually?” He reached for his beer. “I wasn't looking forward to it before, but now I'd much rather be doing this.”

“Sounds good to me.” Kevin stood. “Let me go for a slash, and I'll grab us a couple more drinks on the way back, yeah?” He ruffled Mark's hair as he walked past, sending hot trickles down the back of Mark's neck. “Five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” Mark echoed. Kevin disappeared. His phone dinged again.

**How far away are you?**

Mark told Kian he wasn't coming. It didn't get a reply. He tucked the phone back in his pocket, looked up to see if Kevin was on his way back yet, and was surprised to see two girls lurking nervously near the table.

They wanted something signed, told him they'd been at the show and what was he doing here? He laughed and said he was just catching up with a friend who lived in the area, glancing over nervously when he saw Kevin push out of the toilets. They giggled away, went to sit back down, but Mark could see them. Looking over every few seconds, one of them on her phone and talking excitedly.

He looked down at the half-eaten plate of food and stood, catching Kevin before he could make it back to the bar.

“Let's go.”

“Why?”

“Because...” The fans were still looking over in excitement. Kevin noticed. Rolled his eyes. Mark's insides were a knot, chewing into themselves while Kevin looked at the fans. “Let's just go.”

“Why?” Kevin said again. “Did one of them say something to you?”

“No. I mean... no. They just wanted an autograph.”

“Okay. So?”

“Kian...”

“Isn't here,” Kevin finished. “I am, and we're having dinner. If they're going to stay over there and mind their own business, I think we should have another pint.” He sat back down at the table. Mark shifted, not sure what to do. “Stop giving a fuck. Seriously. It's exhausting.” He waved at a passing waiter.

Mark sank into his seat. A few minutes later there was a jug of beer between them, and Kevin was pouring neat pints. He passed Mark's over. The girls at the next table over were just getting up to leave. One of them waved nervously on the way out. Mark waved back, saw her squeal and run to catch up with her friends. Kevin laughed.

“Cute.”

“Yeah.” He took a sip of his drink. “Do you think they thought...?”

“Thought what? We're in public, we're eating a meal. If you were cheating on Kian, you wouldn't be doing it at a diner in the middle of Newcastle, would you?” Mark had to admit that no, he probably wouldn't. “You want chips?”

Mark had to admit that he did.

 


	13. Chapter 13

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing.” Mark shrugged. “We went to get food, we left.” They'd just come back to continue having drinks and conversation, it had gotten late, and they'd crashed out after sharing one or two chaste, shy kisses.

“Did you...?”

“No.” He'd wanted to, though. Knew they both had. It had felt wrong. Kian had been just down the hall, and...

“I rang Jodi last night.”

“Yeah?” He looked up in surprise. Kian's fingers were twisting on his lap. The bus was moving slowly, rumbling through intersections and laneways as it headed for the motorway. The others were downstairs, probably gone back to sleep after the way they'd stumbled onto the bus that morning. They'd left early. Kevin had left even earlier, sidling out of the room with a hug that had lingered a little too long, his smile sweet in the dawn light coming through the balcony doors.

“We're going to have dinner next week.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing, really. That I was sorry about how things had gone, that I wondered if she wanted to catch up for a meal or something. Surprised she said yes, honestly.”

“But she did?”

“She did, yeah.” Kian looked down at his lap. His fingers separated carefully, then dug into his thighs, squeezing tensely. “Don't know what it is, but I know I'd be stupid to miss out on the opportunity. I don't know what I'll tell her, but...” He reached out a hand. Mark threaded his fingers into it. “Maybe it's daft. Maybe she'll throw a paddy and go to the press.”

“You think she will?”

“No. She's class.” He exhaled slowly. Shakily. “I need to start giving people more credit, I think. I was so scared people would find out, and then when they did they were supportive. Then I was scared they'd find out they'd put their support in the wrong place, that we were just big fucking liars.”

“We are.”

“We always are. Maybe it's time to stop bothering. Or... stop acting like we need to explain ourselves. It's none of their business if I'm bisexual.”

“Is that what you are?” Kian looked like he wanted to laugh and cry all at once, something hysterical and terrified shivering through his touch. He'd never said it before, Mark was sure. Not out loud. Not as something that wasn't a story, or a line, or something to tell the press.

“I... yeah. I am. Bi.” He bit his lip. “I like boys and girls. Right now I like a girl, but maybe if things change... maybe I could be open to being with a boy, if I met someone worth the time.” He tensed defensively. Mark squeezed his hand until he relaxed.

“How you feel?”

“Better.” A soft laugh hiccupped out of his throat. Relief. Mark got it. That moment of bright realisation, like meeting yourself for the first time, and knowing you could be good friends if you gave yourself half a chance. “Maybe it's like... self-fulfilling prophecy. Told everyone I was, and it turns out I am.”

“You told everyone you were in love with me.”

“One out of two ain't bad.” He smiled fondly. Mark smiled back. “I never gave you enough credit, I don't think. For how brave you are. I feel like I've been running from myself so long it never occurred to me to just slow down and let myself catch up.”

“It's exhausting,” Mark agreed. Kian nodded.

“I've got your back. I know things have been shit, but I'll always have your back.”

“Ditto.”

“We done? We broken up?”

“I think so.”

“One more for old time's sake?”

“No thanks.” He didn't want it, suddenly. Kian was nodding slowly, like he'd hoped that was what Mark would say. Their hands separated. Mark turned his eyes back to the road, rolling past the windows. “But, you know, if we're ever both single again...”

“Definitely.” Cheeky laugh. “Think it's going to work out with Kevin?”

“Haven't a clue,” Mark admitted. “Be exciting finding out.”

“Yeah.” Kian stood up. “Well, I'm going to go crash for a bit. I'm...” A grin spread over his face, soft and careful. Mark felt it wrap slowly around his heart, as furtively and as carefully as that first grip when he'd been sixteen, clumsy. Feeling out something new and knowing, in an instant, that things had shifted. That this wasn't a passing moment that they'd forget the next day. “I'm really happy for you.”

“Ditto.” He wanted to stand as well. Wanted to hug Kian. Breathe him in one last time and feel skin on his, fill himself with the scent of him. Instead he watched Kian head towards the stairs, swaying slightly with the rocking of the bus. “Kian?”

“Yeah?”

“Mark loves Kian forever?”

“Fucking forever,” Kian chuckled. He steadied himself on the handrail. “Love you, fuckhead.” He descended slowly, one foot after another, and as the top of a blonde head disappeared past the floor, Mark lay back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling, turning a stupid grin towards it.

 

*

 

“Beer?”

“Cheers.” Mark reached out, let Kian press it into his hand. The barbecue was on, Nicky and Georgina holding court around it and arguing over whether the sausages were ready. Mark had considered having a cigarette, but he was trying his hardest to quit again, knew he'd get nagged at if he sneaked himself a cheeky one.

“Hey.” They all looked up. Shane, Gillian beside him. She had to be about ready to pop, was due in the next few weeks. Shane had his arm protectively around her waist, his other hand clutching a newspaper.

“That's it?” Kevin asked. He had been busy patting Keano, who was rolling happily on the grass, tongue lolling out. Was probably the most excited of all of them, everyone around to give him loads of attention. Mark wasn't sure if he was excited, himself, just knew his blood was fizzing, everything inside him clenched into a ball, waiting for this moment.

“Who wants the honours?”

“I'll do it.” Kian took the paper. Began to unroll it. Jodi was peering over his shoulder, chewing all her lipstick off. Her hand settled on his shoulder. Mark felt one settle on his own, and turned to smile, saw a comforting grin.

“If you want to have a cigarette after this, I won't blame you,” Kevin murmured.

“No. Quitting together.” He'd promised. Kevin gave him a quick wink. He'd been a star through all of this, through the argument with Louis and Simon, the late-night phone-calls, Mark worried and babbling and Kevin telling him it really was going to be okay. That this was his fucking life, and it was his right to live it.

That all sounded really nice. In theory.

“Headline?” Nicky asked.

“ _Break-up Scandal Rocks Westlife,”_ Kian announced. Jodi started to laugh. Mark rolled his eyes. Georgina was snorting. He felt himself relax for the first time in almost a year. “Want me to read it?”

“No.” Mark shook his head. “I don't care what it says.” Kian nodded, putting it down while Gillian looked exasperated, as though she was wondering why they'd driven out of their way to get something they weren't even going to read.

“Give it here.” Kevin took it, then bent down, handing it to Keano. “There you are, mate. Go for it.” Keano sniffed it once, experimentally, then began to chew, eyes flicking up to a laughing Nicky, as though he was sure he was about to be scolded and couldn't believe his luck.

“Guess that's that,” Kian said. The paper was already a sodden drool-soaked mess. There was a jagged ripping sound as a sheet came free, and Keano bowed his head again, gnawing into the middle. There were ink-stains on his jowls. Nicky patted his head in approval.

“Good lad.” He looked up at Mark. “Alright?”

“Alright.” He nodded. Kian was smiling too. “Alright?”

Kian leaned over. Wrapped in a hard hug, breathing in the scent of him. Bright and warm. A kiss brushed his cheek, chaste. Mark returned it. Patted a strong back and felt, for a moment, content.

“I'm alright,” Kian said. “Fucking starving, though.” He pulled away. “Those sausages ready yet?”

“Hold your horses.” Nicky rolled his eyes. Georgina had wandered off to deal with the salad, and Shane was peering at the grill like he wanted to say something disparaging but wasn't sure how to put it politely. All his friends, their lives going on while he'd spent too long being frightened and hiding. Kian smiling at him over a beer, eyes a twinkling blue in the late-morning sunlight.

He wanted to say something. About how he loved them all.

Instead he took Kevin's hand, and went to see if he could help with the barbecue.

 


End file.
